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“FIRST GLEAM OF DAWNING WOMANHOOD” 

The Vulture’ s Claw 


Frontispiece 





The Vulture’s 
Claw 

A ©alp of Sural ICtfr 



By 

C. F. WIMBERLY 

Jluthor of 

“NEW CLOTHES FOR THE OLD MAN” 

Etc., Etc. 

- 


MPM 



R. F. FENN O & COMPANY 

18 EAST 17th STREET Ji Jt, NEW YORK 








* 




COPYRIGHT, 1910 , 

By R. F. Fenno & Company 



The Vulture's Claw. 


, £ 


©Cl. A275512 


THE VULTURE’S CLAW. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE BLIZZARD. 

The wind howled furiously against the rude 
log house, and as the hours crept on toward bed- % 
time the storm grew more fierce, whipping and 
whistling around the corners and into every crack 
and cranny. The iron nails snapped in the frost; 
the shingles and loose weather boards that had been 
fastened on to protect the chink and daubing, rattled 
and pounded against their habitat as if struggling 
for freedom. It was one of the oldest houses built 
in Skaggs Valley; in fact, no one knew just who 
built it or when. Old Tom Diggs, who runs the 
mill at the ford, said it was built by a “ com’ard of 
Dan’l Boone, Tout the time he come from Kin- 
tuckey.” The scorching suns and summer torna- 
does ; the winter blizzards and zero weather had at 
last about gained victory over one of the first 
picket-posts of western civilization. To-night it 

9 


IO 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


was war between the elements and the weather- 
beaten fortification of oak logs and stave shingles. 

“ Nancy, ef this storm keeps up at sich a rate 
all night, there’ll not be a shingle left over our 
heads. I kin feel the cole cornin’ in frum every 
wheres, now,” exclaimed Silas Bartman, as he gave 
the fire a fresh anointing from the stack of wood 
in the corner. 

“ I hope it will not be so bad as that ; my faith 
is still strong in the promises of One who will 
never leave ” 

Oh — there ye go agin; it’s mighty easy when 
things is goin’ smooth to be talkin’ about sich stuff ; 
but what ’ave we got a-head ov us? The winter 
ain’t half gone, an’ I see nothin’ but starvation fur 
us an’ the stock. We’re in it fur a bad spell o’ 
weather; it’s beginnin’ jist like it did the winter 
’fore Frank wus born.” 

“Let us hope that should another such winter 
come, we may be honored, through some good 
Providence, as we were when our dear boy came to 
us. To be the mother of such a son is as much as 
I could ask for.” 

The words came as a mild rebuke to the bitter 
reflections of the man who frowned and shivered 
every time the storm renewed its attack. 

“ I cain’t see whur the honor comes in at, ’ceptin’ 
to him ; he rides all over creation on the kears, lives 
on the fat of the lan’, an’ has lots of bio win’ about 


The Blizzard. 


1 1 

’im in the papers; but his ole father’s goter hobble 
’round doin’ chores all crippled up with rumatis. 
I cain’t see whur the religion’s at; tain’t accordin’ 
to my thinkin’.” 

“ I can never believe,” said the mother emphat- 
ically, referring to a copy of a paper which had been 
sent them giving a glowing account of their son’s 
work, “ that Frank has anything to do with the 
publication of that extravagant report. If I thought 
so, I should be very much pained ; I blame the edi- 
tors in part. Such things positively do harm to 
the cause.” 

Mrs. Bartman was a woman of unusual strength 
of character, possessing a rare sense of honor and 
discretion. It remained always an unsolved prob- 
lem how Silas Bartman could have won the beauti- 
ful light-hearted Nancy Meadows. Silas was hon- 
est and industrious, but of a morose gloomy disposi- 
tion. The first years of their married life were 
crowned with prosperity; the well-improved forty 
given them by Nancy’s father was well cared for, 
and another forty soon added; yet Silas saw only 
the dark days. He was actually frightened and 
depressed over “ streaks ” of good luck or days of 
sunshine, because of the dreadful things sure to 
follow. When accused of being out of harmony 
with all the world, he took great consolation in the 
fact that a Gypsy once told him that he was born 
under an unlucky star. Silas told himself frequently 


12 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


that everything was fixed, and “ what wus to be 
would be.” It was a real satisfaction to feel that 
very few could think intelligently in the realm of his 
philosophy. A soured pessimism at thirty, rein- 
forced by many years of adversity and disappoint- 
ments, flavored with rheumatism and indigestion, 
and we may imagine his attitude toward almost 
everything and everybody now that he has turned 
sixty. Fifty years of labor had about conquered the 
straight, manly carriage, and gave a tell-tale stoop 
to his once splendid physique. At the log rollings 
and barn raisings back in old Kentucky, no man 
could stand beside Silas Bartman. The raven hair 
was streaked with gray; the smooth-shaven face 
revealed a multitude of furrows running in angles 
and “ crow’s-feet ” around his large mouth and dull 
blue eyes. 

“There ain’t no use talkin’, Nancy;” he said, 
knocking the “ long green ” ashes from his clay 
pipe and drawing a little closer to the fire, “ any- 
body who spends thur time preachin’ to a lot of 
mean stingy fokes about heaven, an’ they pursuadin’ 
theirselves that they’re going thur, is wastin’ time, 
ef there is any sich thing. Jim Cluckston belongs 
to the gang I’m talkin’ about. He’s one ov yer 
big Methodists, teachin’ in Sunday-school, sayin’ 
prayers out loud and all sich; then cheatin’ and 
robbin’ ever’body. I ” 

“ Silas, let us not bring up that subject to-night ; 


The Blizzard. 


J 3 


you never know when to quit talking about it, and 
I have heard it over and over, but don’t care about 
it again. I got the victory over Jim Cluckston long 
ago, and shall leave his case in God’s hands. What- 
ever there may be of dishonesty in his life; and if 
he is making religion a cloak, I pity him with all 
my heart ” 

“Huh! You’d feel sorry fur the devil; anybody 
who could feel sorry fur a man who takes a grab 
game like ’e did to me, closin’ the mortgage an’ 
pretendin’ to be a Christian ” 

“ Oh well, I am not going to worry over things 
I cannot help ; what is the use ? One hundred years 
from now that little farm will be of no service to 
him or us either. Dear me, what a terrible night ! ” 

At this moment the hominy snow began a fusil- 
lade against the window; the prophecy of Silas was 
surely coming true. It was evident that the blizzard 
had burst in fury on Skaggs Valley. Woe be to the 
man or beast caught in the clutches of a blizzard. 
The trained weather prophet understands the mean- 
ing of the first hailstone charge: the ominous in- 
troduction to the mad surges of snowflakes ground 
into flour by the unbridled machinery of storm. The 
gigantic clouds of powdered snow, rolling, twisting, 
roaring in every direction; filling the eyes, ears, 
nose, mouth, clothing; drifting, freezing, changing; 
no earth, no sky, no north, no south; chaos, blind- 


H 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


ness, confusion, terror, death; a blizzard. The 
demons of hate, revenge, cruelty, destruction — 
incarnated in the soul of winter. Hear the pitiless 
shout, the mocking laughter, the mingling of 
groans, shrieks, mad hallelujahs; the taunting 
hurrahs over the waste and the desolation, the ruin 
— the annihilation of everything visible. A bliz- 
zard ! The elements gone wild in remorseless war- 
fare; an untuned orchestra of cyclonic reverbera- 
tions; a jubilee of inferno. 

All the harrows within the compass of human 
imagination cannot comprehend a real blizzard; it 
destroys distance: direction is impossible, keen 
animal instinct is baffled. If it comes at mid-day 
there is no light, there is no darkness — all is im- 
penetrable whiteness. The cold becomes intensi- 
fied and focused, stinging its way to the marrow 
from every angle. Add to a blizzard the gloom, 
of pitch darkness of midnight; let the black raven 
wings cover its desolation and fury. Think of a 
traveler in a blizzard afoot, on horseback or vehicle, 
stumbling, groping, feeling; nothing to feel, noth- 
ing to hear, and hearing everything ; hoping against 
hope; fighting, clutching, and struggling in grim 
despair. No one is saved in a blizzard except by 
miracle. Once the wayfarer is caught beyond the 
touch of familiar objects, or many steps from shel- 
ter, soon all is over. The mind, the will, the body 
alike give up the struggle ; the powdered snowflakes 


The Blizzard. 


15 

weave the immaculate pall, and it is the sleep of 
death. 

“ You’ll find out sometime ’at I know somethinV , 
said Silas, returning from the window where he had 
stuffed an old rag into the hole of a broken pane 
of glass. “ A blizzard is bad ’nough by itself, but 
hitched to a cyclone is what’s on us now. I look 
fur every huff on the place to be froze stiff by 
mornin’.” 

“ I am glad there is a strong everlasting Arm 
around us when we trust, and that’s all we can do,” 
said the wife. Above the crash and din outside, 
a Voice was bounding over her soul: “ I will not 
leave thee nor forsake thee.” 

“ Nancy, I want ye patch that ripped place in my 
ole coat; I’ll need all the holes stopped up in the 
mornin’. Listen ! What ’us that ? ” 

“ It sounds like someone fumbling at the back 
door. Take a light, Silas, and see what it is. It 
may be some one lost in the storm.” 

“ I’ll bet it’s Wiggins’ ole dog ; he’s alius prowlin’ 
’round,” growled the man as he obeyed, followed 
by his wife. 

“ A dog could never make that kind of a noise,” 
she replied, pushing the bolt and helping her hus- 
band get the door open which was frozen to the 
jams. A huge mass had fallen against it, and now 
stiff and shapeless it lay across the threshold, 
wrapped in a winding sheet. A snow cloud swept 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


16 

in, the light went out, and the room was rapidly 
becoming filled with the drift. 

“ Oh, it’s a man,” cried Mrs. Bartman. “ Quick, 
Silas, don’t wat for a light ; pull him inside and get 
the door shut.” 

For a moment the rheumatism was forgotten, 
and once the reserve energy of Silas Bartman was 
asserted, it required but a short time with broom 
and muscle to win the fight. It was a man — dead 
or alive; he was rescued, fate or fortune, good or 
bad; the blizzard demon had lost a victim. 


CHAPTER II. 


THE CLAW. 

It was a bright October evening, many years 
before the opening of our story. The early autumn 
frosts had nipped the foliage of the forest, giving 
a Kentucky landscape the added beauty of an hun- 
dred colors, tints and hues, from dark green to 
brightest vermillion. The hickory and beech had 
vied with each other in their production of old gold. 
The thistledown and cobwebs floated lazily in the 
warm sun. Nature arrayed in her brightest cos- 
tume was taking her annual vacation. 

But for the occasional call of a wood fowl, or the 
chirp of the sparrow, or the racing of a gray squir- 
rel along the top rail of the fence, all the world 
seemed to be taking an after-dinner doze. Nothing 
is so beautiful as an autumnal woodland. No wood- 
lands can compare with those stretching along the 
Muldrough Hills of central Kentucky. 

“ Fields, streams, and valleys spread ; 

Far as eyes could gaze ; 

As summer beauty o’er them fled — 

In sunshine’s brightest rays.” 

The Sugartown pike was one of the oldest in the 

17 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


1 8 

state, and had always been kept in good repair, 
owing to the well-to-do planters living in that sec- 
tion. The ante-bellum plantations had escaped the 
ravages of the civil war. The people generally 
owned slaves and therefore were in full sympathy 
with the Confederacy. A number of Morgan’s 
brave men fell in a battle on the pike near Green 
river. The largest plantation in the entire country 
belonged to Colonel Jim Cluckston, stock raiser, 
land speculator, money loaner, financial pillar of 
the Methodist Church, and a high priest dictator 
of the policy of the preacher, stewards, and neigh- 
borhood generally. Jim Cluckston was not a hand- 
some man, but he had a prepossessing air which 
readily voted him leader of any assembly in which 
he might figure, — political, or ecclesiastical. Hence 
county officers became so by the grace of Colonel 
Cluckston; the annual conference gladly sent him 
as leading lay delegate to the general conference. 
No pastor dared risk a coup d'etat with the foxy 
Colonel. He was a born general, high forehead, 
small dark eyes that danced nervously ; large Roman 
nose resembling the beak of a vulture; and short 
stubby beard trimmed to a point on the chin. Col- 
onel Cluckston had one humiliating deformity ; 
which, however, he kept carefully concealed when 
in public. In place of his left hand with fingers 
and thumb was a cluster of bones, the hand of a 
skeleton but for the dry-looking skin stretched over 


The Claw. 


19 


them ! It was not a hand, but a monstrosity. Each 
bone tapered to a point and all closed toward the 
center resembling a huge claw rather than a human 
hand. When about home among the negroes, or his 
inferior white neighbors, Colonel Cluckston made no 
effort to conceal this hideous mark. When he was 
exercised over the profits of a big deal, or angered 
because of failure, this skinny claw would open 
and close involuntarily, as if fastening the fangs 
into the heart of a victim. Every negro on the 
plantation considered it nothing short of a hoodoo, 
and its presence commanded prompt, silent, and 
careful obedience. 

“ Sho and sartin,” said Pete one day to a fellow 
negro, “ I wouldn’t tech dat scratchy lookin’ fist 
wid de poker. I can feel dem hoodoos crawlin’ up 
my back — Whew ! ” 

Many intimate friends of the Colonel in politics 
and church, had seen only the soft kid glove that 
beautifully protected this unusual birthmark. Those 
who had never seen Jim Cluckston’s claw hand had 
never seen him; the whole man was embodied in 
the extremity of his left arm. 

Colonel Jim Cluckston, “ Brother Cluckston ” 
as seen by bishops, presiding elders, conferences, 
and distinguished guests who frequently enjoyed 
the luxuries of his splendid old plantation, was the 
smooth, kid-finish, well-kept Southern gentleman. 
Those who saw the man, sordid, ambitious, covet- 


20 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


ous, hard-hearted, pitiless — saw the slim skinny 
bones opening and closing with the fierceness of a 
vulture tearing the flesh from a quivering victim — 
a human claw. 

Very few people have seen this strange deform- 
ity, fortunately fewer had seen the man. Two 
classes need only ever fear Jim Cluckston; to all 
others he was a Christian gentleman, a philanthro- 
pist with broad views of the world’s condition and 
needs. Two classes must take due warning and 
master every line of approach, study the vantage 
ground from every flank movement, and guard to 
the death every fortification. A battle was on. 
The man or woman who stood in Cluckston’s way, 
white or black, rich or poor, great or small, was sure 
to receive no quarter at his hand. Those whose 
unfortunate circumstances placed them in his 
power were sure to feel the talons of his merciless 
claw pressing to the vitals, extracting like a vampire 
whatever they possessed that he could coin into 
gold for his own coffers. 

The pleadings of sickness, death, or misfortune; 
the appeal of widows were all tq him a jargon of 
meaningless noise. The most remarkable thing 
about the man was his ability to play, with such 
continued success, a double deal. 

In early married life a great sorrow had come 
to his home ; the only son, a bright handsome, blue- 
eyed lad slipped away, and carried with his going 


The Claw. 


21 


some well formulated ambitions. One other child 
was born after a lapse of many years — Margaret 
Cluckston. She was now high-tempered, sprightly, 
tom-boy girl, just budding into her teens. She 
ruled the plantation with a rod of iron; everyone 
on the place must obey her every wish. She was 
petted, flattered, indulged! 

The child united the beauty of her mother and 
the indomitable will of her father. Mrs. Cluckston 
figured very little in the affairs of the Cluckston 
home. It must suit Margaret or it was not done. 

“ Papa,” she said to her father, one day in the 
early summer, “ I am going to the races at Lexing- 
ton next week.” 

“ Daughter, it will be impossible for me to leave 
home now. I can get away at any season better 
than this. You must give that up. I will take you 
when the fall races come off at Louisville.” 

“ Papa, I am going to see the races at Lexington 
next week,” she replied with a saucy toss of her 
head, scattering in profusion the mass of brown 
hair that fell in graceful waves on her shoulders. 
She went according to announcement. 


The sun was fast sinking toward the western 
horizon on the day mentioned in the opening of 
this chapter. An elderly gentleman turned his horse 
in at the gate just in front of Colonel Cluckston’ s 


22 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


house. As he drove in, the Colonel was driving 
his fine span of Kentucky thoroughbreds out from 
the barn toward the front gate. The vehicles met in 
front of the fountain that sparkled in the sunlight; 
in the pool around the fountain swam a score of 
goldfish. 

“ Good-evening, Brother Carson,” said Mr. 
Cluckston ; “ I am delighted to see you ; hardly 
looked for you so early in the week, but glad you 
came.” 

“ You know, Brother Cluckston, that the weather 
was rough on my first round and I came to my 
appointment in time to visit some of the members 
whom I have not seen for some time. 

Rev. Joshua Carson was the “ circuit rider ” on 
the Sugartown charge, and was making his second 
round. He had never served any work except cir- 
cuits, but usually stayed four years, not by choice 
of the people, but by decision of the appointing 
powers. His ministry was barren of results, ex- 
cepting a careful looking after the details, such as 
bringing up the beneficient collections. He was a 
favorite of the Colonel and that was the end of 
the law. He enjoyed his cigar and was an adept 
at telling an old story in a way that sounded new 
and fresh. 

“ I am just starting over the river to attend to 
some business matters,” said the Colonel,” but you 
know you are welcome, and you know how to make 


The Claw. 


2 3 


yourself at home. Here, Pete, take the preacher’s 
horse. Go out to the apple house. Brother, the boys 
are making cider. I’ll be back after a while. So 
glad you came. The church papers are getting 
busy on general conference topics. By the way, 
who’ll be bishop, Brother Carson ? ” 

“ That’s pretty hard to tell, Brother Cluckston.” 

“ I see Dr. H. is advertising his books in all the 
papers. That’s a sly way they have of getting be- 
fore the church. He expects to go in on first ballot ; 
but I tell you here and now, he will never get there. 
So glad you came; we will talk over these things 
to-night. How are the collections coming on? 
When you get ready to pay off the home mission 
assessment let me know; and whatever you lack I 
will pay it.” 

“ My, such a layman,” said the preacher to him- 
self, as he strolled lazily toward the cider press. 
“ One such man on a charge makes a Methodist 
preacher feel comfortable.” 

Colonel Cluckston was whizzing down the pike 
behind his eight-hundred-dollar span of sorrels on 
his little “ business matter.” Beneath the kid glove 
of his left hand the bones were clutching nervously, 
and that meant trouble for somebody. 


CHAPTER III. 


AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 

The sun was nearing the tops of the distant hills, 
casting long cool shadows across the pike, closing 
an ideal autumn day. A man driving a low-wheeled 
wagon emerged from a field-road, on each side of 
which stood the tall ripening corn. 

The wagon was partly filled with freshly dug 
potatoes and the driver had just closed the gate 
which separated the field from the barnyard. 

The well-fed fowls swarmed about, and two fine 
Jersey cows stood at the bars on the opposite side 
begging for attention. 

An old-fashioned log house with some modern 
additions and improvements stood directly in front 
and a little to one side of the road leading from the 
barn to the pike. A well-cultivated garden was 
situated just across this road in front of the house. 
The garden showed that the keeper was not only 
industrious but artistic ; long rows of faded flowers 
gave touches of beauty to the thrifty vegetable beds. 

A row of old locust trees grew on each side of 
the drive-way; though some of them were begin- 
ning to die of old age. The road leading to the 
24 


An Unexpected Visitor. 25 

pike was shaded both from the morning and even- 
ing sun. 

Although there were some signs of thrift about 
this rural home, however, the fences and outbuild- 
ings indicated a retrogression from former condi- 
tions. Everything about the house and garden 
showed great care and neatness. 

It is a luxury to live close to nature’s heart ; deli- 
cacies may be enjoyed without extravagance; peace 
and plenty without a princely income ; there we find 
the brightest types of homely virtues, and unso- 
phisticated morals. 

Why has this age gone mad in its rush for the 
great centers of population; leaving behind real life, 
life enriched by God’s unadulterated ozone. The 
sweet pure “ out-doors ” remains behind with wide 
open arms inviting the half starved “ submerged 
tenth ” to enjoy her storehouse. Why should we 
not flee from the city’s cry; its grime and greed, 
its shams and hypocrisies, its treacheries and tempta- 
tions, its Mammon worship and misery, its deafen- 
ing roar and plunge for pride and pleasure, its dens 
of vice, its schools of anarchy, its graft and boodle 
in high business circles, and low political rings; its 
traps for men, women and little children, its brazen, 
flaunting shame; its carousals of indecency, its 
crime and cruelty? The vultures of hell swarm 
its thoroughfares unmolested and often protected. 
The dark homes of squalor and ignorance exude 


26 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


stench and disease ; the father debauched and brutal- 
ized by rum; and the mother vile in body and 
speech are driving their spawn of immortals into 
earthly prison hells; the anterooms of another hell 
where the worm dieth not and the fires are not 
quenched. 

All classes find the city a chosen arena ; immense 
fortunes are possible; the man who has a message 
of beneficence, a fad, a fraud, or an ism can not 
only get a hearing but a following. The man or 
woman with a “ history ” can drop out of the 
public eye, and lose indentity in the surging masses 
— in the human whirlpool. 

The next-door neighbor does not know you and 
does not want to, and you are glad of it. Not only 
does the city have the attraction of the crowd but 
it affords a bargain counter to depraved, insatiable 
appetite; everything is on the market from innocent 
virtue to gold-bonds. Whatever may be the lurking 
desire for gain or graft — for unselfish service or 
sensual gratification — the city furnishes the oppor- 
tunity. The clash and struggle of commerce and 
unbridled passions are the ebb and flow tides for 
weal or woe, for time and eternity. 

The city is everybody’s Mecca. Those who rise 
are lifted higher on the waves of popular applause; 
those who fall drop out of sight and the place that 
once knew them knows them no more. A few 
blocks may be the door that will forever hide the 


An Unexpected Visitor. 27 

guilt of misfortune, or the publicity of shame. The 
spire and the mud-sill of society can operate in the 
same ward, each living, acting, dying as if the other 
did not exist. Nothing makes or breaks character 
like congested thousands acting and reacting on one 
another. The man in the country, who moves on in 
the even tenor of his way, living soberly and right- 
ously among his few quiet neighbors, keeping the 
Sabbath, attending church and fearing God, when 
in the city, often becomes an easy victim of the 
currents of iniquity that are sweeping manhood 
and womanhood before them like so much drift- 
wood. 

“ What a fine, snug, little farm,” chuckled the 
driver of the eight-hundred-dollar sorrels, as he 
reined them into the driveway leading from the 
pike. His eyes, as it were, gleamed and blazed with 
lust for the poor man’s “ little ewe lamb,” that a 
feast might be made to satisfy his merciless maw of 
covetousness. 

“ Good-evening sir, do I have the pleasure of 
meeting Mr. Bartman?” said Cluckston, springing 
from the shining trap, securing the team to a post, 
and approaching the man who was busily engaged 
unhitching his team from the wagon. 

“ That is my name,” was the somewhat sullen 
reply. 

“ Yes; I have often heard of you, but do not be- 
lieve it has been my pleasure to meet you before.” 


28 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


The reader may wonder why these two men liv- 
ing only a few miles apart should not be acquainted ; 
but Silas Bartman belonged to no church, had noth- 
ing to do with politics, therefore the men were 
strangers, owing to the fact that their social posi- 
tions were far removed from each other. 

Bartman knew a great deal about Colonel Cluck- 
ston, and his very unexpected appearance caused a 
feeling of alarm to creep into the farmer’s heart. 
Why, he did not know. All day he was conscious 
of a depression which was akin to fear. 

“ Well, Mr. Bartman, I am a man of few words, 
and you are busy, and I am several miles from 
home, so will state my business at once.” 

“ I cannot understand what might be your busi- 
ness with me,” said Mr. Bartman, a little nervously. 

“ I understand that the Barryville bank holds 
a mortgage on your farm for one thousand dollars,” 
said Cluckston. “ That is true is it not? ” 

“ What is that to you, sir; I am looking after my 
own business.” 

“ Are you aware,” said Cluckston, not seeming 
to mind the sharp words of Bartman, “ that the 
mortgage is due in a few days? ” 

“ The cashier of the Barryville bank is my friend, 
and I am not going to discuss my private business 
with you,” he said with a show of dignity. 

“ The cashier of the Barryville bank is lying 
at the point of death,” said Cluckston, as his left 


An Unexpected Visitor. 29 

hand showed nervous excitement beneath the kid 
glove. 

“ I am here to tell you that I hold the mortgage 
on this farm, turned over to me as collateral by 
the Barryville bank.” 

Silas Bartman was beginning to understand that 
the coming of Colonel Cluckston meant more than 
he had dreamed. 

“ You surely would not think of givin’ a man 
no chance to renew — Why, this farm is worth 
twice that. Besides I have a little girl lying very 
low with fever. You surely will give me a 
chance? ” 

“ Very sorry, very sorry, that some of your 
family are sick, but I must look after, my business 
affairs; business is business you know. I just drove 
over to tell you the mortgage will be due in one 
week.” 

As he finished these words, he untied his team, 
and before Silas Bartman could offer another 
word, the well-kept horses were champing their 
bits and the bright red wheels were rapidly dis- 
appearing toward the pike. The man stood looking 
after the vehicle dumfounded, and dropping the 
lines from his hands, staggered to the fence for 
support. 

The truth had dawned upon him — he was in the 
hands of Jim Cluckston! The clatter of the hoofs 
was heard on the dry turnpike beyond the little 


3 ° 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


skirt of timber. Just at this time a boy of fourteen 
was returning from his work and was pushing 
the results of his afternoon labors before him. 

It was a wheelbarrow piled high with sweet 
potatoes; on the top of the red cone was a large 
pumpkin, and he was coming slowly down the 
pike steering his load with great care. The lad did 
not notice the approaching vehicle. 

“ Get out of my way ” shouted the driver, who 
could easily have reined his horses aside, but did 
not. 

The boy was taken by surprise and before he 
could turn the wheelbarrow, the front wheel of 
the buggy struck the side of it tearing away a 
part of the bed and scattering the vegetables in 
every direction. The boy was knocked from his 
feet with a stinging bruise on his leg. 

“ Why didn’t you get out of my way ? ” roared 
the man. In reply he felt a sharp sting on his left 
ear, and heard the whizz of a rock past his head. 

One inch nearer the mark and the story of Jim 
Cluckston would have had a spectacular ending. 

“ You little dirty-faced tramp,” yelled Cluckston, 
placing his kid-gloved left hand to his ear. The 
boy saw he had missed the mark, something he 
rarely ever did, and was eagerly searching for 
another suitable bullet. 

“ Whoa ! ” Cluckston said drawing up his reins, 
and looking back over his shoulder, “ if you throw 


An Unexpected Visitor. 


3 1 


another rock, your hide won’t hold shucks,” at the 
same time fumbling with his pocket, “ you don’t 
know who you are fooling with.” 

“ Yaaw, Yaaw, Yaaw! I do know. You’re 
old Jim Cluckston, the meanest man in the county, 
and if I live I’m goin’ to kill you for this.” 

Before the boy had time to find another stone, 
or the man to answer the taunting words, the fiery 
steeds became frightened and dashed away at full 
speed. 

“ I hope ’e won’t get ’em stopped till they throw 
’im out and break his old neck,” said the boy grit- 
ting his teeth, and looking after the rapidly disap- 
pearing vehicle. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE TAVERN KEEPER. 

Half way between Sugartown and Barryville 
in a clump of beech woods, near the Green river 
bridge was Jake Moss’s tavern, grocery-store and 

There was nothing unusual about the sur- 
roundings; the big trees with smooth trunks, and 
slightly drooping boughs suggested a cool, peaceful 
retreat; but the tavern was more of a saloon than 
anything else. Every Saturday it was head-quar- 
ters for the men and the boys of the neighborhood ; 
the evident attraction was drinking, horse-trading, 
and telling yarns. 

The revelry and rowdyism often continued 
until the gray dawn of the approaching Sabbath; 
staggering, sleepy, and penniless the crowd would 
scatter, some singing, some mock-preaching, some 
cursing. 

Over the gate leading from the pike to the 
grounds was a big sign: “Jake Moss’s Tavern;” 
yet no guest was ever known to spend the night 
there, the distance between the two towns being 
only fifteen miles. The name was a deception that 
deceived no one. Mrs. Moss and her little daughter 
32 


The Tavern Keeper. 33 

were about all who enjoyed the spacious rooms 
above ; the father and son lived downstairs. 

The lad of fifteen drew molasses and coal oil, 
measured calico and sold thread and other articles, 
but the responsibility of waiting on the customers 
in the rear Jake trusted to no one 

There always had been a suspicion that Moss 
had been a moonshiner from the mountains, as no 
one could ever find out just where he came from 
when he opened his first little “ joint,” on the 
Sugartown pike. No one dared to suggest the 
doubts held by many concerning his name or his 
former occupation. 

He was a large raw-boned ruffian, and, whether 
it was or not, every one considered it risky to cross 
him or encroach upon what he thought to be his 
rights. 

In ten years the little shack on rented ground 
had grown into large surrounding acreage, and 
the two story building beautifully painted in pale 
yellow with pea-green trimmings. 

Jake’s place and its ever growing reputation for 
evil was deplored by a minority of self-respecting 
men and women, but he had become a fixture. His 
brazen, dare-devil purpose to stay, regardless of 
circumstances, had won the point. The sweat, the 
manhood, and hard earned cash of scores of young 
and old, by rapid transmission, were turning out 


34 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


more land, and more figures in the bank-book, and 
more power to the credit of Jake Moss. 

It made little difference who had a grievance, 
and there were many; somehow things got lost in 
the docket shuffle, and the grievance went by de- 
fault. The secret of it all was the tremendous 
political influence of the man whose stock in trade 
metamorphosed the brains of men according to 
his own thinking. The county office seeker soon 
learned the most effective spot to touch, and how 
to touch it. 

Colonel Cluckston was the only man capable of 
being a rival of the tavern keeper; they were stran- 
gers so far as any knew, in fact there was nothing 
in common between them ; however, like Pilate and 
Herod, if they did not make friends they agreed 
as to the man wanted. By some strange law of 
association, which no one understood, or tried to 
understand, Colonel Cluckston and Jake Moss were 
never known to oppose each other’s candidate. In 
public life and conversation no two men stood 
farther apart; they were never seen together; ap- 
parently one was constructive the other destructive 
— Cluckston for the highest, Moss for the lowest; 
Cluckston acting as chairman on the conference 
temperance committee, saying strong things against 
the traffic — Moss a whisky lobbiest working to 
defeat all temperance legislation, and to bribe 
officers sworn to enforce the law. 


The Tavern Keeper. 


35 


Cluckston was never known to mention politics 
in connection with his reports on temperance, but 
this was attributed to his conservative views and 
early political training. The wireless communica- 
tion between the two men, the positive and negative 
pole of character, never grounded the message, — 
the indorsement of either man assured an election. 

It was a well-known fact that somewhere about 
Jake’s premises a poker table did a steady business 
adding much to his exchequer. 

Thompson Miller who rarely missed a Saturday 
at the “ store ” was believed to be the most solvent 
young farmer in the community, but to the sur- 
prise of his neighbors, he advertised his farm for 
sale, and when matters were closed out the deed 
and keys were in the hands of the tavern keeper on 
Sugartown pike. 

Mt. Zion church belonged to Sugartown circuit 
and was the most important point on the charge. 
It was located in another grove scarcely a mile 
from the river. The tavern was an odious rival, 
but no aggressive steps had ever been taken to 
determine which should possess the land. 

Very few men cared to leave Jake’s beech trees 
on warm Sabbath mornings, and the boys played 
base ball in his pasture lying along the pike near 
the church. A continual shout and hurrah was kept 
up all day long even on “ preaching day.” The 
Sabbath-school was reorganized each spring, but 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


3 6 

had a brief sickly career since Jake Moss became 
established; the school had but one permanent ex- 
istence, and that was in the annual statistics report. 

Each new pastor had urged “ Brother Cluckston ” 
to take the superintendency, but he had for some 
reason always graciously declined. 

Years had passed since revival fires had been 
kindled on the altar of Mt. Zion, the people were 
satisfied — the preacher seemed to be — finances were 
always one hundred cents on the dollar; Colonel 
Jim Cluckston was the why and the how of it all. 

“ Bartman, how is old Jim Cluckston and his par- 
son getting along over your way? ” said Jake Moss 
to his regular customer, who was leaning over the 
bar. 

This strange question not only angered Silas 
Bartman, but he shrugged his shoulders in a dis- 
concerted manner. 

It was a warm afternoon some days before 
Cluckston had visited Bartman’s home that he had 
hastened to the tavern where he hoped to reach old 
Dr. Bates at Barryville by telephone. His little 
girl had been complaining several days and had 
suddenly grown worse. 

“ What on creation are ye axin' me for?" he 
answered in a husky voice ; “ I’d look up the old 
scratch ’fore I would that old white-livered hypo- 
crite. If ye want ’im to come down and pray for 


The Tavern Keeper. 37 

your business. I’ll send ’im word/' — at the same 
time pushing his glass toward Moss for refilling. 

“ Oh, I jist thot ye might o’ seen ’im drivin’ 
round. Guess you do see ’im every time he comes 
over to be religious for an hour or so.” 

“ Jim Cluckston don’t bother me, an’ I don’t want 
’im to,” said Bartman ; “ and I’m sure and sartin, 
I’m not going about his meetin’ house ; I don’t take 
no stock in that high-toned crowd.” 

He started for the door but Jake interrupted him 
by another startling remark. 

“ I hearn thet ’e bought the strip of land lyin’ 
twixed you and the river.” 

These seemingly casual bits of inquiry, sounded 
like a seeker for information in a round-about way. 

“ If ye don’t keep yer eye skinned, he’ll gobble up 
all the land as lies in the big bend. ’Tain’t been 
mor’n three weeks ago sence I seed him and Wes 
Wilson drivin’ past in! a buggy.” 

“ What was Wilson and Jim Cluckston ridin’ 
around together fer ? ” said Bartman in astonish- 
ment. 

Wesley Wilson was the cashier of the Barryville 
bank, and a large stock-holder besides. Some flying 
rumors had it that Mr. Wilson was almost broken 
up because of some bad investments in mining 
stock out West. There was nothing significant 
about a wealthy farmer and a banker driving 
through the country together, but for some reason 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


38 

Silas Bartman was disturbed, as he rode away from 
his probing questioner; his thoughts were gloomy 
and his soul in heaviness, notwithstanding the 
usual drams he had just taken. For once his heart 
was not merry — the panacea had failed ! 

Five years previous to the opening of our story 
Silas Bartman had owned the best eighty in the 
fertile bend of the river; his wife was economical 
and industrious; but it was obvious that he was 
falling behind. The buildings and fences showed 
marks of insolvency. It was an open secret that 
the frequent visits to the tavern was the solution to 
the difficulty. 

“ Times is giftin' mighty hard ” he would whine 
to the neighbors. 

“ I’ll bet Jake Moss don't think so,” said a man 
who was in a position to know. 

One year Silas placed enough produce and live 
stock on the market to clear off all debts. The bulk 
of the indebtedness was the “ store bill ” and when 
the money was all gone Moss gave him a receipt 
“ credit on account.” Yet the bill which Mrs. 
Bartman supposed had been settled, remained on 
the greasy ledger, scribbled with a lead pencil and 
showed numerous erasions. 

It was the old, old story; the sad history of ten 
thousand prosperous homes — drink, debt ; more 
drink, more debt; careless business, more drink, 


The Tavern Keeper. 39 

more debt; mortgage, more drink; bankrupt, and 
more drink. 

The meddlesome curiosity of the tavern-keeper 
had nettled Bartman, and he began to curse at the 
mysterious web that was being woven around him, 
of which, in spite of his mental protest, he was in 
the center. An unseen hand was writing “ Up- 
harsin ; ” he was unable to analyze the fear that 
possessed him; it was intangible, yet oppressive. 
The dangerous landlord owning property joining 
his own! and this man prospecting around with 
the bank cashier who had a thousand dollar mort- 
gage on his home ! his own misfortunes and loosen- 
ing grip staring him in the face, — all conspired to 
set the half-intoxicated brain into a maddened whirl. 

The rider raised his eyes from the road, where 
unconsciously they had been fixed for some distance ; 
the first object that met his gaze was Cluckston’s 
earthly shrine — Mt. Zion Church — white and beauti- 
ful, sheltered by a mammoth beech tree which stood 
near the front walk. The sight almost made him 
blind with rage ! “ Touch fire to it,” whispered a 

tempting imp. “ Such monuments of favoritism 
and pride deserve to be laid in the ashes.” This 
demon withdrew at once, as the man’s honest soul 
revolted at the thought, but another lantern-slide 
vision came before him. It was the idea of God, 
heaven, Christ, the gospel, the preachers surfeiting 
in idleness, — all these were but hateful hypocrisies 


40 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


so mean and unjust that murder throbbed through 
every chamber of his soul. 

Mrs. Bartman stood at the gate, eagerly waiting 
the father’s return and news from the doctor. 

“ Ruth is getting worse, Silas,” she said before 
he had dismounted; “ is the doctor coming? The 
poor child is burning up with fever and moans all 
the time.” 

“ He can’t come before tomorrow, if ’e comes 
then. Had to leave word, they didn’t know when 
’e’d be back.” The face of the sick child aroused 
the father from his dream of hate, and filled him 
with dread. 

“ I’m mighty sorry, wife.” His voice dropped to 
a low key, and a tear stole down his sunburnt face. 
“ I’m mighty sorry was all he said. His wife 
noticed his usual unsteady step as he started for the 
barn. “ Oh God ! ” whispered the mother as she 
kneeled by the fever-tossed child. “ My heart is 
breaking; teach me how to pray, Lord, for I can’t 
bear it alone.” 

The room grew dark from the approaching night ; 
half dazed by grief and fear that could find no way 
of escape; the stammering prayer was choked by 
sobs. The moans of the child fell on her ears in- 
distinct and far away; an awful stillness filled her 
soul! Untaught words welled up from the depth 
of her being. 

“ Speak, Lord, for thy servant heareth,” a still 


The Tavern Keeper. 


4i 


small voice seemed to reply. “ I am thy God ; be 
not dismayed.” A peace as quiet and transparent 
as the undisturbed waters of a mountain-lake filled 
her soul, and she rose with new courage to meet the 
crisis that was so near at hand. 


CHAPTER V. 


A DOUBLE VISITATION. 

The day opened dark and gloomy; all night a 
heavy mist hung low from the moonless sky, and 
at times a light drizzling rain fell, just enough to 
start the drip from the eaves of the house. The 
wind had swished around to the north and caused 
the dampness to penetrate to the bone. The yellow 
autumn sunlight, that on yesterday bathed the 
ripened fields and distant hill with glory, had given 
place to the chilly foretoken of an early winter. 

An old man with long gray beard and stooped 
shoulders dismounted from his saddle in front of 
the Bartman home. With pill-bags hanging on 
his left arm he walked stiffly and clumsily toward 
the house. The long ride facing the sharp wind 
told on the venerable physician. 

Silas Bartman opened the door and the two men’s 
eyes met; one showed a strained apology, the other 
deep sorrow and resentment. 

“ You needn’t ’ave come. Doctor,” said the 
father. “ Its been mor’n a week sense I left word 
for you to come. You might jist as well a-stayed 
away.” 


42 


A Double Visitation. 


43 


Dr. Bates and his family were out of town on 
the day which Silas had gone for him, and an ur- 
gent request was left to come at once on his return 
home. His visit had been shortened by a call from 
the home of Mr. Wilson, the cashier of the Barry- 
ville bank, who was taken with a stroke of apoplexy. 
Besides, the woman who was intrusted with the call 
left by Mr. Bartman, had forgotten to tell the doc- 
tor, which, explained the delay and the cool recep- 
tion given him on his arrival. He could have come 
a day sooner but the call had been indefinite, and 
every moment of his time was occupied with the 
sick financier. 

“ I cannot tell you, Mr. Bartman, how exceed- 
ingly sorry I am that I was away when you came 
that day. You know, of course, that Mr. Wilson 
has been very sick ? ” 

“ Yes, I hearn of it, and was mighty anxious to 
know how Vs gittin’ along — A man — ” 

“ Well, sir, he died yesterday morning — .” 

Silas Bartman grasped the doctor by the arm 
with a grip of iron; every muscle of his face was 
drawn as if suffering intense pain. The news went 
to the man’s heart like cold steel. Ever since he 
had the conversation with Jake Moss he had been 
unable to untangle the web that seemed to be tight- 
ening about him. He had half hoped that the news 
received from Cluckston of Mr. Wilson’s sickness 
might not be true. His purpose that very morning 


44 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


was to ride to the little town and ascertain the facts. 
Dazed and stupefied, the father had watched all 
that following night at the bed-side of his sick 
child, obeying in a mechanical way, the directions 
of the brave mother. So alarmed and disconcerted 
was he that Frank’s graphic description of what 
had occurred on the pike the evening before had 
scarcely any effect on him. 

“ I’m goin’ to get even with Jim Cluckston,” 
said the boy, his Kentucky blood boiling, and his 
dark eyes flashing fire. The three had seated them- 
selves at the supper table, and the boy’s loud ex- 
cited words aroused Ruth who had fallen into a 
little doze, the first for many hours. 

“ Hush, Frank,” said his mother; “ you must let 
that pass out of your mind; we have something 
more serious to occupy our thoughts now than a 
broken wheel-barrow. Don’t you see how your 
loud talk has startled Ruth ? I do hope she will not 
have any more convulsions to-night ; she can’t stand 
very many more.” 

Silas sat stirring his coffee ; not one mouthful of 
food had he taken ; it was his custom to lean on the 
stronger character of his wife, but now matters 
had been swept along beyond the judgment and 
courage of even Mrs. Bartman. 

“ Into every life some rain must fall 

Some days must be dark and dreary.” 

The apostle Paul wrote of “ evil days,” and that 


A Double Visitation. 


45 


special fortification was necessary to brook the 
cataclysm of opposing agencies. There are days, — 
periods, when clouds hang lower and are more im- 
penetrable than on others. The sun fails to give 
light; the laughter of children, the merry twitter 
of birds, the music of distant bells, all seem like 
so many harsh, grating, rasping sounds. The soul 
remains mute and dumb to every word of hope and 
cheer, the heavens are brass. The evil days come 
from whence, — no one knows; they go hence — and 
we wonder how and why it could have been so with 
us yesterday. 

It was not so with the Bartman family — an evil 
had come, but not one to be brushed aside with the 
rising of a new sun. Frank was asked to retire 
earlier than usual; the father and mother took up 
the lonely vigil, while the hours dragged on like 
so many galling chains. Once during the night 
Ruth ceased moaning; the delirium that had 
possessed her young mind for many days left her. 
Her big blue eyes looked wildly at the grief-stricken 
parents holding her hands. 

“ It’s mother, dear ; don’t you know me ? does 
anything hurt my baby? Let me bathe your face.” 

“ Won’t — I: — get — well — mother? Do you — think 
— I won’t ? ” said Ruth slowly. “ Will — they — 
put — me — in — the — ground — by Gr anma — i f — I — 
die?” 

“ Don’t be afraid, darling,” said her mother; 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


46 

“ we are going to take good care of you so you will 
be sure to get well. We won't let you die and leave 
us.” 

“ Can I take my doll with me? will Jesus let little 
children have play-things, oh — I’m so — tired — • 
won’t you — hold m-e moth ” 

The father had risen from the bed-side and 
walked to the window; his great frame shook with 
emotion. He had never allowed his children to go 
to church or Sabbath school; their Aunt Mary had 
sent them Bibles for Christmas presents two years 
before. The mother, in spite of circumstances and 
environment, had tried to tell them of God and a 
Savior whom she herself did not know. Mrs. 
Bartman was in every way superior to her husband, 
and now that a new peace had come into her life, 
she felt a double responsibility to be the vicar dur- 
ing the threatening events that confronted them. 

When Dr. Bates was shown into the sick room, 
and carefully examined every symptom, a shadow 
crossed his face. 

“ Congestion all over, I am afraid,” he said to 
them. “ It is not fully developed, there is but one 
chance, — keep that down.” 

For hours the old physician put into application 
every remedy within the compass of his wide prac- 
tice. He knew that odds were against him, and 
that life hung on a frail little thread of hope. About 
three in the afternoon the child’s pulse showed that 


A Double Visitation. 


47 


the disease was yielding to the treatment; but the 
chances were so meager that he departed leaving 
little more hope than he had found in the morning. 

“ I cannot return tomorrow but will be here next 
day; follow the directions day and night. We will 
do our best.” 

On the following morning Silas Bartman started 
for Sugartown, hoping to make some arrangements 
to save his farm from the cruel clutches of the man 
who was never known to deviate from strict busi- 
ness principles. Christian principles were used 
when ever convenient but never to the detriment 
of a good proposition. 

It was dark when Silas returned ; a more discour- 
aged man never lived. All day long he had sought 
for some one who was in a position to pay the one 
thousand dollars and transfer the mortgage. No 
less than a half dozen had told him to see Jim 
Cluckston. “ They just knew he would be glad to 
help him out.” To these suggestions he gritted 
his teeth and started for home tired and sore in body 
and heart. 

“ Haven’t I alius told you that we’d have no luck ? 
You’ve made fun of me but you see that what I’ve 
been tellin’ ye is cornin’ true and lots more besides. 
’Tain’t intended for me to git along, nohow.” 

Mrs. Bartman knew too well the “ unlucky star ” 
was not in the heavens, swinging in its orb, and 
shedding sorrow and misfortune in its path, but 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


48 

down on the pike near the bridge, — “ Jake Moss’s 
tavern.” Somehow she did not feel a great sur- 
prise at the calamitous turn of affairs. Nothing 
could be gained by an argument on predestination 
or fore-ordination ; they were at the mercy of a mean 
man, and not a Providence; the present situation 
was, from the beginning to this sad ending, of the 
earth, earthy. Her keen knowledge of her hus- 
band’s weaknesses, had caused her many times to 
anticipate the inevitable. She entered no protest 
to his pessimistic whine, but resolved to test the 
Voice that had come up out of the depths. 

The days passed rapidly. Ruth’s condition grew 
steadily worse ; the faithful doctor came “ every 
other day ” and while he had been able to avert 
what her symptoms indicated the day of his first 
visit, other complications had developed. It was 
the day of his third visit; for an hour he watched 
the ebb and flow of her remaining strength. 

“ We have done our best, Mrs. Bartman, but the 
worst is approaching. The hardest thing in the 
life of a doctor is to tell you what I must tell you 
now — the end is not one hour away.” 

The three members of the family stood with the 
old physician and watched the breath grow weaker 
and shorter. They noticed Ruth’s mouth open 
slowly, and the tongue, so dry and parched, quiver 
— and all was still. 

A sharp rap sounded at the door. The room 


A Double Visitation. 


49 


seemed to be filled with a holy Presence. The father 
and brother gave way to loud sobs; the mother’s 
heart was full and bursting — tears and weeping 
were locked up — pale and dry-eyed she sank on her 
knees by the still white form of her baby girl. 

The rap at the door was repeated more vigor- 
ously than at first. Dr. Bates opened it, and a 
stranger strode across the threshold. 

“ Is Mr. Silas Bartman at home ? ” said the stern 
looking man, assuming much profound dignity in 
his articulation. 

“ I am here/’ said the weeping man. “ What do 
you want ? ” 

“ I am here as an officer to serve a summons 
on you. You are sued for the sum of one thousand 
dollars, a mortgage note which is due today. Col- 
onel James Cluckston, plaintiff.” 

He was gone. The mother was still kneeling as 
immovable as a statue; the great chest of Silas 
Bartman heaved heavily, and uttering one groan, 
more like a suffering animal than a man, he sank 
unconscious to the floor. 

Two days later a number of farm wagons and 
vehicles moved in slow procession through the drive 
way to the pike. Mr. Watson’s spring wagon was 
in the lead; in the rear end on a thin layer of hay 
was a small oak coffin covered with a white sheet. 
The homely cortege was a striking contrast to the 
long lines of black carriages headed by a large ebony 


5 ° 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


hearse that may be seen daily sweeping along our 
city thoroughfares. 

Nothing can be more beautiful than the gather- 
ing of sympathetic neighbors at the country home. 
No crape, no flowers, no stiff conventionalities, no 
spectacular programme, no white gloved pall bear- 
ers. See them gather about the open grave, dug 
by voluntary hands, and the coffin lowered with the 
driving lines of the nearest team. Sometimes a 
dozen young men will take turns filling the open 
tomb, from the bank of yellow dirt barricaded by 
three panels of fence rails. The mound does not 
look so smooth and perfect, but what of it, — heaven 
will stoop just as low over the bare ridge made by 
untrained hands, as over the newly-made grave in 
a paradise of stately monuments, weeping willows, 
and fantastic flower beds. What foolish slaves of 
custom, what cold blooded commercialism enters 
into the time, of all times that such consideration 
should not be mentioned. Thanks to the kind 
province of environment, poor folks can afford to 
die in the country. The green pall dotted with 
American Beauties, Lilies of the Valley, and carna- 
tions will not suffice in the great day when the Bride- 
groom cometh. Funerals in the cities are select 
occasions; the expenses involved by death are 
great; carriage accomodations are usually limited 
to relatives and intimate friends. Everybody in 
the neighborhood goes to the country funeral, 


A Double Visitation. 


5 * 


whether it be at the time of plowing, planting, or 
harvesting. It is the one event that causes all differ- 
ences to be laid aside ; the long “ procession " is in- 
dicative of the universal sympathy felt and ex- 
pressed. 

What matters whether the fresh dirt is thrown 
on a canvass to be carefully removed or behind a 
breastworks of old fence rails. Only those who 
have washed their robes and made them white in 
the blood of the Lamb, will hear the quickening 
voice that shall wake the sleepers for the first resur- 
rection. 

Near the sunken grave of “ Gran-ma ” marked 
by the rough sandstone was placed the body of little 
Ruth Bartman, and her big doll that closed its eyes 
when lying down was placed by her side; they 
slept together in love's embrace. 

“ I just can't bear to see it, and not see her," 
said her mother, to Mrs. Watson who was arrang- 
ing the corpse the day the coffin was brought from 
Sugar town. 

The wagons and carriages departed in different 
directions from the sunny slope ; the two old ragged 
pines that had guarded the sacred dust of loved 
ones for so many years accepted their new charge 
with a silence that was eloquent. 

It was not a funeral, but a simple “ burying." 


CHAPTER VI. 


SKAGGS VALLEY. 

The old Goshen Road that wormed its way 
through rugged forests and deep ravines, and 
around the mountain sides was the only artery of 
life that connected Skaggs Valley with the great 
unknown world lying beyond the Twin Peaks, 
lifting their bare heads above the foot-hills that 
looked dim and ragged in the distance. From 
Lover’s Leap the rising sun, which always came up 
between the Peaks at certain seasons, looked like 
a great ball of fire as the first rays penetrated the 
mists that rose from Spring river below. When 
the sky was clear their bare yellow soil and flinty 
terraces shone like gilded domes of a Mohamme- 
dan mosque; and often the blue atmosphere that 
hung around the bosom of the mountains blended 
the shaggy pines and hills until they resembled a 
huge bank of winter clouds and left the Peaks 
suspended in mid-air like two June “ thunder- 
heads.” 

Skaggs Valley began at the foot of the Twin 
Peaks and swung south and west around Thomp- 
sons Bald in a great crescent and died away in the 

52 



The VuT tire’s Claw 






Skaggs Valley. 


53 


forks of Sames Creek, several miles below. The 
old road came into the valley at the upper end, 
crossed Little Sandy near where the waters dash 
in torrents over ledges of rock and narrow gorges, 
making soft, gurgling music all the year. 

A short distance from the creek, near the ford, 
it rose up out of the jungle, and wound in a zigzag 
course over Devil’s Backbone and up the side of 
Thompsons Bald, under Lover’s Leap, down into 
the lower end of the crescent and followed the left 
fork of Sames Creek past the mill, many miles 
beyond. And as old Tom Diggs would say, “ No 
’un ’as ever follered it to know where’n the thunder 
it did go to.” It was late in the evening of a day 
in early spring, the sun a red half-disk was sinking 
out of sight beyond the range of blue hills that rose 
abruptly from the farther side of Sames Creek. 
Far down in the valley the dusk had already begun 
to settle; here and there on the uplands could be 
seen columns of blue smoke where brush was being 
burned over tobacco-beds, or “ new ground clear- 
ing.” The sound of the woodmen’s axe rang out 
clear and musical from these centers of throbbing 
life ; the echoes reverberated up and down the creeks 
and against the surrounding bluffs. From a half 
dozen cabins might have been seen the first dis- 
charge of smoke indicating that the time for the 
preparation of the evening meal had arrived. 

Two men had hidden the mauls and wedges and 


54 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


wooden gluts in a hollow log and climbed on the 
rail fence near the road where they were resting 
a moment before crossing the woods pasture to 
their home. One man was past middle life — tall 
and slender, wearing a gray beard just thick enough 
to hide his heavy under-jaw and angular features. 
The other was a lad of seventeen, with a frank, 
open face, that showed nothing but guileless hon- 
esty; his bright blue eyes could meet the eyes of 
anyone, young or old, without a tremor. Notwith- 
standing the boy was in what his father called “ the 
gosling age,” he was a perfect athlete. His body 
was straight as an Indian ; his muscles were trained 
and adapted for climbing mountains and swinging 
a heavy axe, and sending it to the eye through 
green oak or hickory. Here was a specimen of 
young manhood that never heard of an athletic field 
or gymnasium, yet his hard, well-developed muscles 
would have made a medal winner at college green 
with envy. Nature in him was at her best. Though 
clothed upon with patched jeans trousers and blue 
hickory shirt, coon-skin cap that had lost part of 
the rim. The body and soul were free from taint 
of debauchery. He had known nothing but simple 
food, pure air, hard work, and regular rest. There 
is no limit to the reserve power of nature if all her 
laws are obeyed and she can be allowed to exercise 
full authority over all her machinery. 

“ Josh,” said the elder man, straightening up and 


Sk a gg s Valley. 


55 


removing his double-bladed axe that was lying 
across his lap, “ what’s that yonder a cornin’ ? ” 

“ Movers,” said the boy. “ Don’t ye see them 
chicken coops tied on behind; there’s a boy drivin’ 
a yaller cow, or — no, they’re leadin’ ’er to the 
wagon.” 

“ Whoa ! ” came the loud voice of the driver, 
who was sitting under the arch of the wagon-bows 
and sheet. “ Come a-here, son, and lock that wheel, 
the team can’t never hold us bc^ck — sure, and lock 
’er good, now.” 

A large wagon with a row of bows from front 
to back over which a yellow looking sheet was 
stretched had just come around the bend near 
Lover’s Leap. In some sections, such travelers 
may be seen daily and attract no attention, but it 
was a very unusual sight on old Goshen Road. 
The great tides of western immigration flowing 
from St. Louis to Kansas and Nebraska, left our 
peaceful valley far to the south. From Springfield 
the range was west and northwest. The history of 
the Skaggs Valley settlement had never been writ- 
ten. Tradition had it that the road was blazed 
out by a party of trappers who belonged to Daniel 
Boone’s party when they first came from Kentucky. 

The boy stepped forward and slipped a chain 
that was dangling by the side of the bed through 
the spokes of the hind wheel and locked the ends 
securely. 


The Vulture’s Claw, 


56 

“ All right, pap, go ahead.” The man in the 
front clucked to the team and the locked wheel be- 
gan to scrape and screak on the rocks and gravel. 
Far down the hillside the road seemed to dip down 
into a dark cluster of willows and sycamores. These 
were the first “ movers ” who had been seen coming 
into those hills for years; and whoever they were, 
their destination surely had been reached, as 
no one had attempted to follow the mysterious trail 
further into the forest solitudes. About a mile 
below Digg’s Mill, near the mouth of Sames Creek, 
was the Benders’ neighborhood. It was given this 
title because of its location in a big bend in the 
river. The man and boy on the fence were full 
of curiosity, for they were almost sure that some 
one had directed the new-comers to the valley to 
seek a location. 

“ Hello stranger,” said the man on the fence, 
when the wagon slowed up just opposite them. 
“ Traveling” 

“ We’ve been travelin’ for nearly a month,” was 
the reply, “ but I hope to find a stoppin’ place right 
soon.” 

“ Which way ye travelin’ ? ” 

“ I’ve been turned ’round for more’n a week ; 
maybe ye can tell me, stranger, some things that I 
hain’t found. Nobody has knowed much about it.” 

Just then the man and boy on the fence saw a 
pale faced, beautiful woman change her position 


Skaggs Valley. 57 

so that the setting sun illuminated her countenance 
with a bright halo. 

“ Is this here Berry County/’ the driver con- 
tinued. 

“It jines us on the south; do’no ’xactly how 
much further; never wus there.” 

“ This is a pretty fine lookin’ patch o’ country, 
badly shet in ; any openin’ about here ? ” 

“ They hain’t nuthin’ else. Mister ; depends a 
little on what ye’re huntin’. You hain’t seed no 
lan’ as rich as this here valley.” 

“ Is there any good campin’ place close to here ? 
Looks purty dark down yonder ahead of us.” 

With these words there were signs in the wagon 
that some one was urging the conversation closed, 
and that it was time to drive on. 

“ Ye’d better turn in ’round the foot of that hill 
yonder; not much good campin’ on Sames Creek. 
Then tain’t overly safe, nuther; them Bender fellers 
is liable to go over to Jed’s still any night, and they’d 
want no better thing than to come along drunk and 
raise old blixon with ye. You’ll be mighty welcome 
to stop over with us, stranger.” 

“ Let’s do it, Pap,” said the boy who overheard 
the remarks of the mountaineer and became inter- 
ested. 

“ What d’ye say, mother,” he said, turning to 
the woman who was concealed behind the wagon 
sheet. 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


53 

“ It might be best, from what they say. We are 
in a strange, wild country, and he looks like an 
honest man,” she answered in a low tone. 

“ Fm bleedged to ye, sir, and if ye’ll tell me how 
to git in, we’ll be mor’n glad to camp with ye for 
the night.” 

“ Lay down the first pair of bars ye come to and 
foller the road up the hill, and ye’ll see the house. 
We’ll cut acrost and beat ye there.” 

“ He talks like he wus raised right here among 
us,” said Wash Wiggins to his son as they got 
down from the fence and disappeared in the hazel 
thicket on the other side of the road. 

“ Say, daddy, why don’t ye banter ’em to move 
int’ our house. I’ll bet yeh that it’d just suit ’em. 
That feller hain’t goin’ to come back no more. 
You might as well quit lookin’ for him,” said Josh 
Wiggins, as they stopped at the stable waiting for 
the “ movers ” to drive in. 

“ A purty good idee, by hokee; I’ll talk his arm 
off or rent him that forty. From the looks of their 
outfit, it’s as good as they’re us’ to. He may make 
a good naber — no tellin’. We’ll see.” 

Just as the covered wagon had slowed up in 
front of the stable, a shrill, piping voice rang out 
through the woods and orchard nearby. It came 
from the back door of the two story log house 
which was surrounded by a paling fence. 

“ O-h Dix-e-e ! ” It was Mrs. Wiggins who 


Skaggs Valley. 


59 


sent her clarion call for her daughter who had gone 
to Jed Simmons’, the nearest neighbor, who 
lived across the ravine a few hundred yards away. 
She was unconscious of the new arrivals, and her 
voice was easily heard, even by others living at a 
greater distance. 

“ A-l-1 right, mammy/’ came a sweet, bird-like 
voice from the edge of the woods, and in a moment 
a girl came skipping between the stable and straw- 
shed, whirling her pink bonnet around her head by 
the strings. Everybody in the valley felt that life 
was a little brighter and sweeter when Dixie Wig- 
gins was around. Old Aunt Betsey Cox, who was 
half blind and crippled up with rheumatism, re- 
garded it a red letter day when Dixie came over to 
her little hut and sang for her. 

“ It’s the curesist thing in the world about her 
singin’, anyhow,” said Dan Coonrod. “ When none 
of her folks can hist a tune to save yer life, she 
just naterly knows how without learnin’.” 

Here was a wild, uncultured child of the moun- 
tains; a face sparkling with the flow of vitality; a 
heavy suit of brown, wavy hair, which had never 
known the artificial touch of curling-iron, yet it 
rose in great fluffy rolls above her high, well formed 
forehead. When the string or ribbon was untied 
at the back of her head, it stood out almost like the 
blondine hair of an Albino girl in the museum. 
Her features were clean cut; the mouth was 


6o 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


surrounded by curves so graceful that an artist or 
sculptor could not have added to their beauty. Her 
large hazel eyes were deep and expressive, when 
they were not twinkling with mischief. Dixie was 
at that age in the early teens when life bubbles over, 
and the first gleams of dawning womanhood give 
new tone and color to all the world; the step is 
elastic, the heart is hopeful and merry; each new 
day brings new consciousness of life’s mysteries. 

The lad who was following the wagon had untied 
the cow and was leading her toward the straw- 
shed, when the pink bonnet that was flying around 
with centrifugal force struck him square in the face. 
Dixie took in the situation at a glance, gave a 
tiny little scream and stammered, “ Oh, I didn’t go 
to do it.” When the boy saw the source of the 
unexpected blow, he blushed and did his best to 
relieve the embarrassment of the striking figure 
before him. 

“ Never mind, it didn’t hurt very much.” 

Such was the introduction of the two lives, 
destined by a strange providence, to play a con- 
spicuous part in a thrilling, unexpected future. 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE HISTORIC SHADOW. 

The privileges and hospitality of the Wigginses 
were gladly extended to the tired travelers and they 
all enjoyed supper in the old-fashioned kitchen, 
around a “ ho’-made table,” well supplied with 
coarse, substantial food. A traveler of any kind 
was never turned away or refused lodging in the 
valley; anything to break the monotony was wel- 
come. By the time they were all seated at the table, 
the ridiculous meeting at the straw-shed had taken 
full possession of Dixie, and during the entire meal 
she kept up a silent little titter, apparently to her- 
self, but to the thorough mortification of the bash- 
ful boy who sat facing the big bright eyes and 
flushed face. 

“ As I was a saym’,” said Mr. Wiggins, “ you’ll 
find that powerful good land, and if you hain’t any 
sartin’ place in view, you’d better settle amongst 
us. That guvernmint lan’ over in Berry county, 
from what they say ’ats been there, hit’s mighty 
pore truck. They don’t raise nothin’ over there 
’ceptin’ Bal’ Knobbers and rows; besides, ye kin 
get the piece ’at jines my forty on the south, for 
five dollars an acre.” 


61 


62 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


After supper they were all seated on the porch; 
the men were sending great clouds of tobacco-smoke 
into the still evening air. The women had left the 
supper dishes to be cleared away by Dixie, and were 
busy talking over insignificant matters pertaining 
to the local life of the neighborhood. The woman 
of the “ mover’s wagon ” was an interested listener 
to all the odd phrases and personal history that 
made up the life of one whose horizon was bounded 
by the things that were never out of sight. 

“ I told Becky Simmons that them turkeys of 
hern would stray off as soon as layin’ time come. 
She hain’t had no luck with none of her fowls, 
’count of the varmints. Her old man is alius at the 
still-house, and Bud, he’s coon huntin’ and while 
that’s goin’ on, the varmints slip in and hep their- 
self. He, he, he.” 

“ How do you succeed in keeping your own 
fowls; you are very close neighbors,” asked her 
guest. 

“ My, I’d like to see the color of a mink or weasel 
that could pester around when he’s about,” she re- 
plied, pointing to a medium sized cur that was 
stretched out on the porch. “ ’ Twouldn’t be safe 
for no two-legged varmint! to nose around either.” 

All along the eastern sky was a glare of 
approaching light, and in a short time the moon 
showed her full, round face above the crags of 
Lover’s Leap, and filled all the valley and moun- 


The Historic Shadow. 63 

tain sides with pale glory. When the moon had 
risen to a certain height, this great, over-hanging 
rock, covered with short pines, known from the 
earliest traditions as Lover’s Leap, cast a strange, 
dark shadow. It looked like a huge monster with 
bristles raised, crouching to spring upon a victim. 
This phenomenon could not be seen except on clear 
nights, and when the moon rose to a certain position 
and certain angle. Hence, it was regarded with more 
or less superstition. The reason for its irregular 
appearance was not known; if it was seen con- 
tinually for several nights, and regularly for 
months, there was no end to the “ things shore to 
happen.” The lads had located at the farther end 
of the porch and were beginning to get on easy 
terms, when the Wiggins boy looked up and saw 
the monster rise up dark against the night sky. 

“ Look a yander, dad,” he spoke, loud enough 
to attract the attention of everyone. “ She’s come 
out in fine shape tonight.” For a long time the 
Wiggins family gave their new friends some thrill- 
ing entertainment about the “ ole ‘ painter ’ that 
comes out’n the mountain.” The Indians believed 
that a great evil spirit had its lair in Thompson’s 
Bald, and that its appearance was a token of danger 
and bloodshed. The game of all kinds that fre- 
quented that particular mountain went unmolested. 
The people of Skaggs Valley did not feel such awe 
as the former occupants, but the strange stories and 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


64 

traditions added to the romance and folk-lore of 
the hills. 

The moon had arisen to the meridian before the 
friendly conversation became silent on the porch; 
the gigantic silhouette of Lover’s Leap had silently 
withdrawn, and the big flint rock glistened in the 
soft light. Bud Simmons’ dog “ barked tree ” on 
the pin-oak ridge a mile away. The bed clothes 
were brought in from the covered wagon and all 
were comfortably sheltered under the hospitable 
roof of Wash Wiggins. The boys went to the 
“ loft ” and Dixie enjoyed the luxury of her old 
trundle-bed, the first time for many years. All was 
still; the voices of the night-birds, chirped and 
whistled; a screech owl set up a querulous warble 
in the old hickory tree that stood near the house. 
Everyone on the place was wrapped in sound 
slumber, except the woman whose soft words and 
intelligent inquiries had given Mrs. Wiggins so 
much opportunity for chat during the evening. 
Sleep was gone from her. Things had taken a 
sudden change ; fate had directed them to that out- 
of-the-way region. There was so little of promise 
before them; it all meant a dropping out of the 
world forever, and taking up the monotonous, hum- 
drum life of a sphere far more narrow than they 
had ever known. A retrospection brought some 
vivid pictures before her mind’s eye. She was 
aroused from her reverie by a fierce, low growl of 


The Historic Shadow. 65 

the dog that had spent the evening stretched out 
on the porch, apparently unconscious of all that was 
taking place. The growl became more intense; 
the dog had evidently scented something in the 
darkness nearby, and his strange manner showed 
that it was not the approach of some small “ var- 
mint ” seeking prey at the hen roost. The listen- 
ing woman arose, crept quietly to the half open 
window, and peered down the hillside that looked 
so still and beautiful. To her horror, the polished 
barrel of a gun glistened in the moonlight, as the 
owner was concealed behind a clump of bushes. 
On the opposite side of the path, another dark form 
was seen. It was evident that they were discon- 
certed by the growling dog on the porch. What 
could they be after? Were they some suspicious 
persons who had seen them enter the valley, and 
anxious to know who and what about them? Her 
first impulse was to awaken her husband, but the 
dark forms soon disappeared, and the dog ceased 
growling and walked back to the old piece of rag 
carpet and curled himself up contentedly. A cloud 
passed over the moon, and the distant hills and 
bluffs became invisible. A strange fear crept into 
her heart; before again retiring, she transformed 
the bedside into an altar of prayer and the silent 
room became surcharged with an holy Presence, 
and the voice came again, “ I am thy God, be not 
dismayed.” She could not interpret the plans that 


66 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


seemed to direct them to the lonely valley, away 
from all things that appealed to high and noble 
aspirations; but for the first time since the morn- 
ing, several days before, when they left the main 
road leading to the broad prairies in the far West, 
and took the old Goshen Road that went straight 
to the heart of a wilderness, she calmly felt that 
an unseen Hand was guiding. She must cut loose 
the past that once held so many promises and live 
only for the sake of living. It was a quiet nook, 
with nothing to do but stay and dream an aimless, 
intangible dream, then sleep in peace. Whatever 
was worth while must be evolved out of a conscious- 
ness that it is not all life to live and not all death 
to die; but how? A thousand panoramic pictures 
came in upon the reveries; the hours swept by. 
The artist of the morning began to paint the east- 
ern sky with phantastic streaks of gray, an old 
rooster sent his glad challenge ringing over the 
woodlands, and many answers came in reply from 
far and near. Skaggs Valley was awakening; and 
in a short time forests resounded with a welcome 
ring from a thousand happy throats, and the wake- 
ful listener felt an amen coming from the depth 
of her soul. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


A CALL FROM THE DARKNESS. 

Of course, our readers have no difficulty in 
recognizing the “ Movers ” who found their way 
into Skaggs Valley. It will be unnecessary to go 
back over the hardships of a rugged journey of 
many hundreds of miles ; cross with them the fords 
of a score of rivers; and see the sights that they 
saw of peoples, cities, and small towns, in order to 
know that the pilgrimage began on the Sugartown 
Pike “ back yander in old Kaintuck,” as Tom Diggs 
would say, refering to the scenes of his boyhood. 

We desire to start anew with our friends in whom 
we have become very much interested. A word 
will suffice to explain how a definite route mapped 
out for the broad, rolling prairies of Kansas, came 
to an end in the heart of the Ozarks, nearly one 
hundred miles south of the overland highway. 

They were camping for the night on the banks 
of a little stream, — miles west of St. Louis. A 
few moments after the fire was kindled, another 
party traveling in a “ covered wagon ” stopped at 
the same inviting spot; but they came from the 
opposite direction. After supper an exchange of 
67 


68 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


ideas and experiences was in order. The new 
acquaintances proved to be victims of a Kansas 
drouth followed by a few blizzards to give sub- 
stantial tone and setting to the picture. “ I left 
Indiannee,” said the man, “ with ‘ Kansas or bust ’ 
writ on my wagon-sheet, and now I’m done busted, 
and going back to wife’s people. Gittin’ out axe- 
handles, barrel staves, and hoop-poles is good 
enough for me, you bet.” 

“ There now, wife, what ’ave I alius been tellin’ 
ye ; you think I don’t know nothin’ ; but you’ll find 
out that I do. Hain’t I alius said that I wanted 
none of that Kansas in mine? It’s a Godsend that 
we’ve met up. You’ve told me ’xactly what I tho’t 
all along, ’at we wus makin’ an awful mistake.” 

So when they broke camp the next morning, the 
“ busted movers ” from Kansas took up the march 
for another day’s journey nearer the land of cheap 
fuel and kindred; and Silas Bartman took the left 
fork of the road in the direction of the long row 
of blue hills lying far away to the south. 

“ Well, thank goodness, we are settled at last, 
and glad to be where there ain’t nothin’ nor nobody 
’at looks like anything I ever seed afore.” These 
words were spoken after the first meal in the new 
quarters had been finished. “ Them people that 
moved out of this place were mighty gaummy, but 
we’ll get things cleaned up, and maybe we can have 
a breathin’ spell.” 


A Call From the Darkness. 69 

“ Well, Silas, you have had your own way in this 
matter, and followed the advice of a trifling look- 
ing man whom you never heard of, rather than the 
counsel of good, trustworthy people who have been 
all over the West. If you want to be let alone, this 
place ought to suit you. They say the mail comes 
twice a week, and it’s three miles to the post-office.” 

“ I reckon that little rusty house we past back 
of them two mountains is the post-office,” he 
answered, making no reply to his wife’s remarks. 
“ There’s nobody that wants to write to us, an’ 
I’m dead sure I don’t want to write anybody. I 
don’t care a cent if none of them low-down villians 
in Kentucky ever knows what became of us, — that 
I don’t.” 

“ I shall never forget the good, kind people who 
staid by us in our trouble ; I can’t see how you can 
feel so ungrateful. You know very well, Silas, 
that Mr. Watson and Jones gave you twice as much 
for what they bought, as they would have brought 
at the sale. These were the men that you had 
bemeaned because they professed to be Christians. 
I am quite sure Jake Moss didn’t show any love 
for you — he knew what that cow was worth and 
got her knocked off at about half her value.” 

“ Oh, shut up,” growled the man, as he got up 
from the table, and was careful to kick the chair 
over as he did so. “ I don’t want any lambastin’ 
over Jake Moss. He was as good as a lot of them 


7 ° 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


fellers that was always runnin’ him down. He 
didn’t pertend to be anything ’cept just what ’e was. 
Jake Moss wasn’t no hypocrite, nohow.” 

“ You are quite right; any one who got took in 
by him had no one to blame but himself.” 

Silas Bartman knew that his wife told the truth, 
but her words touched a sore spot, and he was net- 
tled. “ There’s one good consolation in Skaggs 
Valley,” he broke in, “ There’s no chance for any 
Sunday performances. I won’t have to see any 
long-faced parsons spungin’ around, and pretendin’ 
to be wantin’ to save souls. We can hunt and fish 
here, and do whatever we want to, and nobody to 
talk about breakin’ the Sabbath.” 

“ The long-faced parsons never ate any of your 
food ; I don’t see why they should trouble you. The 
most painful thing in the world to me is to live 
where the people scarcely know that there is a God, 
except to blaspheme His name.” 

“ I would like to know what you know about 
these people ; I am sure they have been treatin’ us all 
right,” said he with an air of one who is defending 
an absent friend from false accusations. 

“ Mr. Wiggins has not always lived here, and you 
will find out that he did not settle in such a place 
from choice. His wife is where she belongs, but 
a good woman, as far as she knows. You remember 
he did not have anything to say about when he came 
or where he came from. Let us keep our past to 


A Call From the Darkness. 71 

ourselves; it will do no good; we can profit by Mr. 
Wiggins’ example. 

Frank Bartman had taken no part in the heated 
discussion carried on between his parents ; they had 
noticed that he had seemed light hearted and happy 
at the prospect of living in the Valley. Whenever 
a chance offered he urged his father to accept the 
proposition made by Mr. Wiggins. 

A few months marked a great change in the boy 
who met a disaster by the carelessness of Jim 
Cluckston on the old pike. He was a boy then — 
now he was more than a boy. The unexpected 
episode with a pink bonnet had wrought a trans- 
formation; he looked no longer at things common- 
place. A new meaning, a new viewpoint for every- 
thing; the song of birds, the Johnny-jump-up, the 
stillness of night had messages. A mysterious ego 
was discovered, yet without a meaning. The care- 
less toss of Dixie’s head; the mischievous twinkle 
of those large beautiful eyes; the insolence of her 
sprightly step; in fact, to be in her presence with- 
out reference to any particular charm, sent a thrill 
of indefinable pleasure to his very finger tips. 

“ You can all say what you please,” he inter- 
jected. “ Skaggs Valley suits me. I’ve always 
wanted to see mountains; everything is so kinder 
fine all around here. I never saw nothing like the 
sun coming up between Twin Peaks; and that big 


72 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


shadder on Thompsons Bald was out o' sight.” 
He had carried some Kentucky slang with him. 

“ I love these mountain solitudes ; they are surely 
sublime, and so free from many defiling influences 
we have known; but Satan is not confined to any 
locality. I fear he will meet us in a new way, but 
matters cannot be worse, and we hope that a good 
Hand has guided this whole affair.” These kind 
words were addressed to the son, as Silas had be- 
come disgusted and gone out in the yard for his 
after-supper benediction of “ long-green.” 

Mrs. Bartman’ s keen motherly intuition had 
fathomed the meaning of Frank’s attachment for 
Skaggs Valley, and she possessed the rare good 
sense to fully sympathize with it. Frank was no 
longer to be satisfied with boyish sports, and she 
knew she must help him solve the joyous problems 
of young manhood. 

The sun had gone down, and flying spring clouds 
overspread the sky, and, in a short time it grew 
very dark. A black object was seen coming down 
the long hill in front of the house. It was a horse- 
man, and when he stopped at the gate, his features 
could not be detected. 

“ Hello,” he said, in a low harsh voice. 

“ Good evenin’,” replied Mr. Bartman. 

“Is the boss in?” 

“ Yes, what do you want? ” 

“ I want you, and that powerful quick.” 


A Call From the Darkness. 7 3 


“ Well, here I am,” was the reply a little sharp. 

“ Git yer hat, we hain’t a minet to spare ; you’re 
wanted.” 

The inmates of the house heard the dialogue and 
silently listened at the window. 

“ You’ll not get me, sir, ’till you tell me who you 
are, and what you are up to.” 

“ Wash Wiggins is hurt ’tother side of Devil’s 
Backbone, and he’s sent for you.” 

“ How is he hurt ; why don’t he send home for 
help? Have ye let them know of it?” 

“ I’ll ax ye once more, are ye goin’ ? This is 
business and no foolin’.” There was a tone of com- 
mand in the words of the horseman. Silas Bartman 
came into the house, took his hat and started for 
the door. 

“ Silas, are you going out with a stranger like 
that?” 

“ Don’t ye see me goin’ ? ” There was some- 
thing in the last words spoken by the horseman 
that conveyed a hint of information; anyhow, he 
went. 

“ I don’t like such movements one bit,” said the 
mother. 

“ I’m a notion to follow them and see what’s up,” 
said Frank. 

“ I wish you would, I feel so nervous, someway.” 

As the two disappeared in the night, they were 
unconscious of a stealthy figure keeping at a safe 


74 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


distance behind, yet near enough to see and hear all 
that happened. What Frank Bartman found out 
that night remained a secret between himself and 
his mother. 


CHAPTER IX. 


A BREAK IN THE MONOTONY. 

The springtime with its putting-out of bud and 
foliage had passed into drowsy summer; the long 
hot days had come with the usual respite owing to 
the lack of harvest crops. The whole Valley seemed 
to be under the same lazy spell as most of the citi- 
zens. Far away beyond Thompsons Bald a buzzard 
was circling around so slowly that it looked to be 
transfixed in the air. The sun poured her red-hot 
rays straight down on field and garden; the heat 
rising from the earth made every distant object 
quiver and dance. 

Nothing had happened in Skaggs Valley to break 
the usual monotony for some time; the oat patches 
had been cradled and the weeds chopped from the 
corn rows; the men who became tired of sitting in 
the shade doing nothing, strolled down to the black- 
smith shop and mill on Sames Creek and spent the 
time pitching horseshoes and railing against the 
“ guvernmint.’ , 

It was Saturday of the last week in July; the 
creek had gotten so low that the mill could not run, 
and old Tom had joined the loafers who had gath- 

75 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


7 6 

ered around the shop. Nearly all the men had left 
the wives to get the cook wood for Sunday, and 
were on hand early to enjoy whatever might occur 
and to dispose of the time that was evidently a bur- 
den to them. There were three items of conversa- 
tion to-day; some strange, unheard-of things were 
about to happen, and the Skaggs Valley philosophers 
were not just sure about them either. 

It was just one week before the annual picnic 
which was held by the citizens of the Valley and 
adjoining neighborhoods. This was the only event 
worth while that occurred during the summer. 
The social tide always runs high in a weekly “ hoe- 
down ” during the winter months. The picnic was 
held in Sim Brown’s woods pasture, about a mile 
south of Devil’s Backbone. The reader will re- 
member that Skaggs Valley lay in a crescent from 
Twin Peaks to the mouth of Sames Creek, a dis- 
tance of more than ten miles, and about three in 
width. No less than two score families lived, or 
existed in the Valley. Wash Wiggins was by far 
the wealthiest land-owner, and the most influential 
man on all questions of a public character. No one, 
however, was able to get on intimate terms with 
him. 

“ I reckon you all hearn the news,” said old Tom 
as he took a twist of tobacco from his pocket, and 
began to crumble one end in his hand. 

“ Yes, there’s lots of news these days,” said Sim 


A Break in the Monotony. 77 


Brown, who was around making final preparations 
for his picnic. 

“ Yes, but you hain’t got the latest,” replied 
Tom pressing the pulverized weed into his clay 
pipe. “ We’re goin’ to have a new store, a meetin’ 
house, and a schoolmarm and nobody knows what 
else.” 

“ You’re jist right there, old man,” put in “ Lanky 
Joe ” the biggest, ugliest, and meanest man in the 
Valley. “ When all them high falutin’ things gits 
in on us, it’s about time to call a halt.” 

“ I’d like to know what you’ll do about it,” said 
the miller. 

No other man dared to suggest a rejoinder to 
Lanky Joe’s opinion. Old Tom was a free lance be- 
cause of his age. The crowd now gathered about 
full of curiosity and interest. When Joe Tate got 
aroused about a thing it generally meant that there 
was a good chance for excitement, especially if any 
one crossed him. He was not only the bully of 
Skaggs Valley but a terror, that is, when he got too 
much of Jed Simmons’s “ red eye.” He lived in a 
cabin so near under a bluff beyond the Backbone, 
that it resembled a dugout, as part of the house was 
set back into the hillside. His family was a wife 
several years older than he, with a large thin nose, 
sallow complexion, and hair that was once a light 
yellow, but now was smoked and dirty till it was 
an ugly brown. The cabin was surrounded by a 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


78 

little garden spot, which Joe called “ the old 
womern’s truck patch.” 

The most that people knew of Joe Tate was to see 
him riding away on his old yellow mare late in the 
evening and returning in the morning. All the 
work he did was at some public occasion, like a 
house raising, when he knew that plenty of Jed’s 
whiskey would be furnished free. 

“ Don’t ye think we’ve a right to say what comes 
into these parts? I jist guess we do. We hain’t 
got no use fer schoolmarms, and a lazy preacher; 
no sir-ee,” said Lanky Joe. 

“ You’re too late this time puttin’ your objection; 
the most of it is already on the ground, the school- 
marm is stoppin’ over at Wash Wiggins’ and they 
say she’s purty as a peach. They say ’at she talks 
like Bartman’s wife, only more so. We’ll have to 
all of us to be on our P’s and Q’s. I’m told that it’s 
Bartman’s wife that’s gittin’ the meetin’ house goin’. 
Her old man is raisin’ all kinds o’ sand about it.” 

“If that’s whar the things a cornin’ from,” in- 
terrupted Joe, “ I’ll fix it, see if I don’t.” 

“You don’t want to go over and raise a row 
with a woman, I hope,” said Sim Brown, who was 
very much interested in the new departure, but 
doubted the wisdom of it. “ If he ain’t able to 
manage his wife, and keep her from havin’ meetin’ 
what can you do? ” 

“ What I’ll do will be a plenty,” snorted Joe. 



The Vulture’s Claw 


GERTRUDE 











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A Break in the Monotony. 79 


“ Huh, this is a free country, I’ve alius hearn as 
how our forefathers fit, so as folks could be religious 
if they wanted to,” went on old Tom, “ but say, 
won’t it be somethin’ to see you fellers cornin’ up 
the creek to meetin’ on Sunday mornin’, ha, ha, ha, 
he, he, he, he.” 

“ All the schoolmarms can come here as onst to, 
but the preacher ’at comes cavortin’ around here’ll 
wish he hadn’t, you mind what I’m sayin’.” 

With this speech Lanky Joe swung himself into 
the saddle and started his yellow mare into a trot, 
but the spectators noticed that he turned in at a 
gate some yards above, and soon disappeared in the 
woods lying between the mill and the place where 
the Bartman’s lived. 

“ That skunk has got devilment in his head,” said 
one of the by-standers who had not spoken before. 
“If that fine-haired woman of Bartman’s wants to 
fetch a meetin’ for us poor sinners we ought to 
stand by ’er.” 

“ Why didn’t you speak up while he was here,” 
said another. 

“ That man jist naturally hates anything ’ats 
good; he don’t go ridin’ out nights fer nothin’. 
’Twouldn’t s’prise me if there ain’t a gang of his 
sort over in the mountains somewhere,” said old 
Tom. “ You’d better have yer business in good 
shape, Sim, the picnic day, for that feller is goin’ 


8o 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


to raise trouble. It’s most a year sense he got on a 
sure nuff bender.” 

At this point the conversation came to a sudden 
stop; the sound of an approaching team attracted 
the attention of all. Before any one had time to 
speak or ask a question, Wash Wiggins drove up 
in the shade. Sitting by his side was a young 
woman who, in appearance, could not have been 
more than twenty. Her straw-sailor partially cov- 
ered a heavy mass of fair hair; a clean shirt-waist of 
a creamy white was in striking harmony with her 
blond complexion. Every man almost caught his 
breath at the sight of such a trim, beautifully- 
dressed girl so unlike those of Skaggs Valley. 

“ Neighbors,” said Wash Wiggins, showing some 
signs of dignity for the honor he was about to as- 
sume, “ this is Miss Ger-ger ” 

“ Just say Miss Moss,” said the girl with a merry 
twinkle in her eye, as she saw Mr. Wiggins’s em- 
barrassment. 

“ Well, this is Miss Moss, and she wants to talk 
with every feller here ’at’s got kids that needs 
lamin’ and I’m here to stand by whatever she tells 


He was about to open an extravagant indorse- 
ment, when she interrupted him by saying : 

“ Oh, Mr. Wiggins’ thank you so much ; ” and 
turning to the astonished men she began in an easy, 
graceful manner, and in such a sweet tone, that in 


A Break in the Monotony. 81 

five miutes every man would have gotten on his 
knees to her if she had requested it. 

“ Gentlemen, I am so glad to meet you; Mr. Wig- 
gins was kind enough to drive me over here. I 
came from St. Louis; for years I haye been pre- 
paring to teach and was advised to come to a 
country where there were not so many teachers, so 
that I might get a start. Some good hand has 
guided me to this beautiful Valley.” 

Her bright eyes sparkled with sincere merriment 
as she addressed the company of rough men. Old 
Tom was the first to venture a reply. 

“ Well, Miss, there ain’t a spot on the earth where 
there’s more children to the number of cabins, an’ 
there ain’t a speck of book-larnin’ in any of their 
skulls, so I reckon you’ve got to the right place.” 

“ I’ve got six you can have,” said Sim Brown, 
“ An’ I’ve got five,” said another. 

In a short time thirty-five children were promised, 
and without another word she seated herself on a 
stump and had each man to come forward and give 
the name, age, and sex of each child, which she 
swiftly wrote down in a small book taken from a 
large purse hanging from her belt. All this filled 
the spectators with wonder, such an exhibition of 
learning almost dazed them. 

“ There’s one question that hain’t settled,” said 
Old Tom. “ I’ve no childern fur school, but where 
on earth air ye goin’ to teach ’em.” 


82 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


“ I’m goiir to fix that old tobacker barn of mine 
back of the orchard,” said Mr. Wiggins. If you 
men will pitch in and help a day, we’ll have her in 
shape.” 

Every man agreed — somehow an intellectual 
shock had come to them, and they did not fully take 
in such a stupendous proposition. The few mo- 
ments had been epoch-making for Skaggs Valley; 
even the men from the bend had felt the strange im- 
petus. No man was able to explain just what had 
happened; but that something extraordinary had 
transpired there was no doubt. The climax was yet 
to follow; while Mr. Wiggins turned the team, 
Gertrude Moss went to each man and extended her 
hand, saying as she did so, “ I am certainly delighted 
to meet you all; I hope we shall soon know each 
other better, and that I shall be able to help all of 
your children.” 

As the wagon drove away, the men exchanged 
glances, but no one spoke; there was a look which 
seemed to say, “ What next.” The crowd scattered 
and old Tom turned his steps toward the mill mut- 
tering to himself ; “ Well I’ll be plague-goned : wish 
Lanky Joe had a been here. She’d a spiked his old 
bazzoo in a mighty short time.” 


CHAPTER X. 


THE NEW FRIENDS MEET. 

The new moon was hanging in the tops of the 
tall trees west of Silas Bartman’s when Joe Tate’s 
old mare disappeared over the old hill in front of 
their house. The two men had separated with a look 
of satisfaction that meant that conclusive plans had 
been adopted. 

Mr. Bartman was silent and morose at the supper- 
table; a strange intimacy had sprung up between 
him and the visitor, which gave his wife grave con- 
cern. She had warned her husband against his as- 
sociation, but was always told to attend to her own 
business. She knew far more than she would dare 
to mention. Joe Tate was playing a cautious game, 
but two besides Silas Bartman knew the meaning of 
this stealthy man of Devil’s Backbone. 

“ Where’s Frank at,” said Silas, which was the 
first word he had spoken since he had entered the 
house, the meal having been ended. 

“ I am looking for him every moment,” was the 
reply. “ He went over to Mr. Wiggins’s this after- 
noon, and I suppose they invited him to take sup- 
per.” 

“ It’s that frizzled-haired gal that ’e’s gone 
83 


The Vulture's Claw. 


84 

crazy over ; when a boy his age gits gal-struck they 
ain’t worth killin’.” 

“It is unkind of you to speak that way; Frank 
never disobeys either of us. He was worming 
tobacco out there in the hot sun and I told him he 
could stop. I sent him on a little errand over to 
Mr. Wiggins’s.” 

Just then the bright-eyed, sunburned lad entered. 
Frank Bartman had never been strong — though a 
boy in every way — he was not rugged and hardy. 
Six months of mountain air had wrought a great 
change in his general health and appearance. His 
voice was clear, and he burst into the room full of 
enthusiasm over the things that were going to 
happen. 

He gave a full and graphic report of the school- 
teacher, the old tobacco barn, the children promised, 
and above all the “ working ” that was to come 
off in a few days. 

“ I give her my name,” said Frank — “ My, but 
she talks sweet and lovely.” 

“ I guess I’ll have somethin’ to say about you 
goin’ to that fine-haired city schoolmarm,” said his 
father, puffing away at his pipe, apparently indiffer- 
ent to most that had been said. 

“ Oh, I meant when the work is done,” said 
Frank, “ She’s going to teach us just what they 
teach in the big cities, and every one ’ats not able to 
buy books, she’s goin’ to get them.” 


The New Friends Meet. 85 


“ What on earth has struck you, all so sudden,” 
said his father, “ you didn’t care nothin’ fer school 
when you could ’a’ gone; I guesses Dixie Wiggins 
’ll be one of them scholars.” 

“ I shall gladly give the school and the teacher all 
the encouragement I can,” said Mrs. Bartman. “ I 
do hope you will go over and help the men and not 
get everybody down on you,” 

“If they come after me, I’ll have a mighty good 
excuse not to go.” 

The way was now opening for a chance to say 
some other things which Silas Bartman had in his 
mind — and the controversy shifted from the school 
and young Frank to what the man considered a far 
graver question. 

But for stubbornness Mr. Bartman would have 
liked to show an interest in the prospective school 
for Skaggs Valley; but the rancor and hate welled 
up in him when he thought of the coming of a 
preacher to establish a church. The name of a 
preacher or church-house, to Silas Bartman, was as 
a red rag to a fighting bull. He came, as he often 
said, to the mountains so as not to see anything that 
looked like being religious. To his great joy he 
found a congenial partner in Lanky Joe, who also 
had once gotten over his “ dose of taffy lies.” 

“ Now,” said he drawing himself up to his full 
height, “ before there’s anything more said and 
done, I’m goin’ to tdl you here and now, there’s not 


86 


The Vulture's Claw. 


goin’ to be any low-down hypocrite preacher ’roun’ 
here, so if you’re expectin’ one in very soon, you’d 
better git word to ’im mighty quick to stay away. 
These folks ain’t a wantin’ any religion, and what 
bisness have you importin’ any? If ever one steps 
his foot on this place I’ll fill him full of hot stuff, 
now mind if I don’t.” 

“ Do you suppose,” said Mrs. Bartman, “ that I, 
a stranger, would assume the responsibility of ask- 
ing a preacher of the gospel to come in this wild, 
God- forsaken place without having the indorsement 
of some of the best people here ? ” 

“ If one comes you’ll be to blame, and he’ll wist 
he hadn’t. There’s others as feels like I do about it, 
so ye’d better send yer angel word that these dig- 
gins ain’t suitable fer such heavenly folks.” 

This harangue was silenced abruptly by the ap- 
pearance of a company of people entering the yard. 
Frank, who had gone out after his father’s rebuke, 
came hurrying in and said in a loud whisper, “ Hush 
your fussin’, Mr. Wiggins and the rest are cornin’. 
The schoolteacher and Dixie is with him, don’t 
let ’em hear any fuss words.” 

“ Come in, Mr. Wiggins, said Mrs. Bartman, 
“ we are always glad to see you. Good-evening to 
all.” 

“ Miss Bartman,” said Mr. Wiggins, “ I just 
knowed you’d like to meet Miss Moss, and so we 


The New Friends Meet. 87 


brought ’er over. She’s goin’ to teach t us heathens 
some sense.” 

Mrs. Bartman took the girl by the hand, and 
smilingly told her how glad she was to meet her, 
and welcome her to the Valley. There was some- 
thing in this refined greeting that caused Dixie to 
open her eyes wide, and say to herself, “ I’m goin’ 
to be somebody too some of these days.” 

Mr. Bartman was rather cool, and soon invited 
Mr. Wiggins to go out and have a smoke with him 
and let, “ the wimmen folks do their own talkin’.” 

He was anxious to get out of the unpleasant 
situation, for fear the school and church question 
might be brought up, and he was not ready to put 
himself on record just yet. Frank was careful not 
to go out in the yard with the men. 

The society inside was much more preferable. 
The radiant face and cultured voice of Miss Moss 
did not eclipse the ideal of his young heart, who 
was shyly enjoying the treat of being over at “ Mis’ 
Bartman’s.” 

“ Do you know, Mrs. Bartman,” said Gertrude,” 
that I am charmed with my prospects of spending a 
year or so in this wonderful Valley. I have never 
seen anything so sublime as Twin Peaks and Lover’s 
Leap. I think I shall learn to be a better girl by 
seeing the greatness of God’s creation ; it’s so differ- 
ent from the city.” 

“ We shall do all we can to keep you in Skaggs 


88 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


Valley,” Mrs. Bartman replied; “and open our 
hearts and homes to make you welcome.” 

“ It is worth my trip from St. Louis to teach this 
dear girl,” and as she said those words, she placed 
her arm around Dixie and drew her close to her 
side. “ I have two pupils that I am sure are going 
to learn rapidly,” (giving a side glance to Frank, 
who sat on an old trunk and looked bashful). 

“ Frank is very enthusiastic over the prospect,” 
said his mother, “ and I’m sure he will not be lack- 
ing in proper instructions.” 

“ Oh thank you, ever so much, how kind of you 
to say that.” 

The evening was hot and sultry, and while this 
pleasant conversation was going on, a great black 
cloud overspread the sky, and heavy thunder began 
to echo and resound against the hills. 

“ We must git home quick,” said Mr. Wiggins 
appearing at the door. “ There is a big storm 
cornin’ up fast, and we’ll have to git a move on us 
or we’ll git ketched.” 

“ Oh my, how dreadfully dark, I’m almost 
afraid,” said Gertrude. “ Do you think we can get 
home, Mr. Wiggins?” 

“ We ain’t skeered,” said Dixie. 

“ Frank, you must take the lantern and go along,” 
said Mrs. Bartman, “ Hurry you will find it in the 
kitchen.” 

Another fortunate thing had happened ; there was 


The New Friends Meet. 89 


a good chance, not only to be an escort, but to re- 
main over night. The boy bounded for the lantern, 
but the air castle was destroyed by his father who 
interfered. 

“ Mr. Wiggins, you jist take that lantern along, 
no us’en him goin’.” 

Frank saw the anticipated pleasure set aside, and 
felt too self-condemned to offer a protest. What 
thunder storm could frighten a lad of fifteen, when 
a chance offered to be in company with a little sweet- 
heart, one that was so just because she was? 
Nothing had been said by either but they both knew. 
Dixie also felt disappointed, as the hurried good- 
nights were spoken. 

“ My, ain’t she fine,” said Frank, who was think- 
ing more about Dixie than Gertrude Moss, but 
thought it a good way to hide his thoughts. He 
felt himself thinking out loud. 

“ The thing has begun, and it’s going to bring 
trouble,” said Silas, closing the door as the wind 
was beginning to blow furiously. 

“ If they get caught in this storm, I fear it will 
turn her against life in the mountains,” said Mrs. 
Bartman, not seeming to notice the words of her 
husband, intended to open the old controversy. 
“ She will help us to have something to live for.” 


CHAPTER XI. 


THE SKAGGS VALLEY PICNIC. 

The picnic in Brown’s pasture was a great event; 
the people in the Valley and for miles beyond came 
out, as old Tom would say, “ In their best bib and 
tucker.” The little store over near Twin Peaks 
had been thronged for weeks with women and 
girls trading their little mite of produce for pretty 
calicoes and bright ribbons. The fashions never 
changed in Skaggs Valley. The styles in a large 
measure were transmitted and not imported. No 
buxom lassie bewailed the fact that her bonnet 
or gown was not what “ they were wearing.” 
Everybody came out in full dress parade. Should 
a girl be the happy possessor of a waist or skirt of 
a style looking to an improvement, she was eyed 
with much envy by her less fortunate sisters. 

The swains far and near who failed to be present 
in some startling apparel, such as a red silk hand- 
kerchief, a paper collar, or “ fine boots,” regarded 
the day as next to lost. All work was hurried up, 
and the deck must be absolutely cleared for the 
picnic. There were no committees on arrangements. 
Mr. Brown usually appointed a “ marshall ” to 
90 


The Skaggs Valley Picnic. 


9i 


keep order. The incumbent of this honor wore a 
wide sash of red or yellow, which went over the 
right shoulder and crossed the breast and back with 
the ends fastened under the left arm. It was con- 
sidered a dull day, indeed, if there were not sev- 
eral good opportunities to magnify the office as 
“ marshall of the day.” This was generally on 
account of “ Jed’s goods ” being too freely handled 
and indulged in. Every boy carried a pair of 
“knucks” or a pistol. There was a spirit of jeal- 
ously existing between the boys of the Valley and 
other neighborhoods, which, however, never mani- 
fested itself until whiskey was much in evidence. 
It was not a fashionable, up-to-date celebration, but 
those who attended had anything but a dull time 
The Skaggs Valley picnic was historical. No 
one knew just when the first one was held; it was 
a kind of a marker in chronology, as things hap- 
pened “ about the time of the picnic,” before or 
after, so that any past event that occurred during 
the summer season could be located as to the time, 
through its relation to that climatric occasion. 

Larger preparations had been made this year 
than usual; more rough board seats, and a larger 
dancing platform had been erected, more barrels 
of fresh spring water had been brought, and last 
but not least, a “flying jinny” from across the 
mountains had been set up with its red seats and 
wooden horses. 


92 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


A great white canvas covered the swing, and a 
dummy negro connected by a crank to a music-box 
stood ready to furnish soul piercing strains of 
music as soon as the swing would start. We may 
imagine the sensation and enthusiasm such an out- 
fit would create on a first visit to a back-woods 
country. The center of attraction at previous pic- 
nics had been around the dancing platform, but 
now something new had come. 

The man from over at the store had the stand- 
right. The sweet-meats and pretty things for sale 
were piled around a big tree, which was inclosed by 
a plank counter, so that customers could be served 
from four sides. From every appearance, the 
day promised to eclipse all previous records. Even 
the most dubious, and fault-finding of the Valley 
were sanguine over the prospects. The crowd be- 
gan to arrive about eight o'clock in the morning, 
and by ten the jollification was at full swing. 

Jim Darnell was marshall, and old Tom Diggs 
was pressed into service to oversee the grounds, 
and to assist Jim in keeping order. There was a 
merry din from the buzz of voices, the neighing 
of horses, the thrilling notes from the dummy 
negro, and the rythmic beat of the dancers to the 
lively tunes of Uncle Cy’s fiddle. Even Miss Moss 
from the city, with cultured and refined feelings, 
felt a strange spell coming over her by the witch- 
ery of what she saw and heard. 


The Skaggs Valley Picnic. 


93 


The loud clarion voice of Abe Trotter was heard 
above the din of noises. Abe had distinguished 
himself as being the best “ caller ” in the mountains. 
It was no trouble to dance when he was master of 
ceremonies. The clumsy, bashful boy, who had 
looked on for a year or two, would make his debut 
at the picnic. 

“ Get yo-u-r partne-e-r-s,” he shouted, standing 
on a high stump near by. At this familiar, but 
welcome invitation, the little congested groups of 
girls and boys began to scatter and rush for the 
platform. 

By this time Uncle Cy was drawing his bow 
across his fiddle, in that peculiar way that animates 
every fiber in young lads and lasses. The long 
platform soon filled up with the required number of 
couples, and Abe waved the signal to the musician 
that all was ready. The bow began its short nervous 
jerks, so characteristic of back-woods players, on 
a favorite of Skaggs Valley: “ Bossum up a 
‘ gump 9 stump, coony in a holler.” Just what the 
marshall strain of a fife and drum is to an old 
soldier, the animated fiddling of Uncle Cy was to 
the dozen unsophisticated couples now ready. 

“ Every b-o-d-y r-e-a-d-y — ” said Abe, giving his 
words a sing-song tone in harmony with the tune. 
“ Hon-er yer pard-n-e-r-s, b-a-l-l-a-n-c-e o-n t-h-e 
c-o-r-n-e-r-s. G-r-a-n-d r-i-g-h-t a-n-d 1-e-f-t. 
F-i-r-s-t c-o-u-p-l-e o-u-t t-o t-h-e c-o-u-p-l-e o-n 


94 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


t-h-e r-i-g-h-t. C-h-a-n-g-e y-u-r-e pard-n-e-e-r-s. 
A-l-1 pro-m-e-n-a-d-e. S-e-c-o-n-d c-o-u-p-le o-u-t 
to t-h-e c-o-u-p-l-e o-n r-i-g-h-t. F-o-r-m a s-t-a-r 
w-i-t-h a r-i-g-h-t h-a-n-d r-o-u-n-d ; b-a-c-k w-i-t-h 
a 1-e-f-t h-a-n-d r-o-u-n-d; a-l-1 p-r-o-m-e-n-a-d-e. 
C-h-e-a-t o-r- s-w-i-n-g that 1-a-d-y o-n 1-e-f-t, A-L-L 
C-H-A-W H-A-Y.” 

Thus the lively tactics and movements went on 
for about twenty-five minutes. There was no time 
to wipe sweat, and no time to fan. 

“ Dear me,” said Miss Moss to Mrs. Bartman, 
“ that is the funniest sight I ever saw in my life. 
Do they keep this up all day in such heat ? ” 

“ Well now, you jist watch ’em and see,” said 
Mr. Wiggins, who had joined the group of the two 
families. This performance was not exactly new to 
Mrs. Bartman, as she had attended country dances 
when a girl in Kentucky. Although it had been so 
long she entered into the novel enjoyment almost as 
much as Gertrude. 

“ My, my,” put in Mrs. Wiggins; “Gals now 
days kain’t stand up to it as we’uns could; never 
seed no feller ’t could tire me down. Jist see ’em 
air gals a pantin’ now; ha-ha-ha! they hain’t got 
the stuff in ’em no how.” 

All the boys and girls expected that Josh and 
Dixie would begin at this picnic, but the presence 
of Miss Moss had a restraining influence on them. 
They were beginning to contrast. A mental evolu- 


The Skaggs Valley Picnic. 


95 


tion was at work; the law of influence had already 
enlarged this illiterate young giant of the moun- 
tains and his sister. There was another law silently 
working, which Mrs. Bartman alone had dis- 
covered. Gerturde Moss felt it in a vague way, 
but did not understand. There were no visible data 
from which to draw a conclusion, but a mysterious, 
inexorable effect; it was a law of ancestral blood. 

The keen intuition of Mrs. Bartman had inti- 
mated as much to her husband, but he saw nothing 
but a boy and a girl, the off-spring of what was 
visible, and nothing more. 

“ Children, hain’t ye goin’ to shake yer foot any, 
to-day ?” said Mrs. Wiggins, as she sat fanning 
with a dried turkey tail. 

“ I ain’t never learnt yit,” said Josh, “ and don’t 
know as I ever want to. If them fellers had to 
work in a terbacker patch like that, this hot day, 
it ’ud kill ’em. That Bob Wicks there, is the laziest 
whelp in these diggins, and he’s workin’ at that like 
tighten’ fire.” 

“ That’s good, Josh,” said Mrs. Bartman, “ you 
just stick to that, and don’t waste your strength in 
such silly dissipation, and you will be a much better 
man. I am glad you have not learned how.” 

“ Josh, if you lis’en to all my wife tries to git 
down you, she’ll have you a preachin’ first thing 
you know,” said Silas Bartman. “ I can’t see no 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


96 

harm in a little fun, a feller don't git much out of 
this life no how." 

“ You know the fruits of those dances in Ken- 
tucky, and I feel that there will be trouble here to- 
day. I never knew a dance, but what the boys got 
jealous over the girls," went on Mrs. Bartman. 
“ There are some rough, ugly looking fellows on 
the ground." 

“ Don’t be uneasy, Mrs. Bartman," said Mr. 
Wiggins, “ that marshall is as game a man as there 
is in these parts. This crowd all knows as it ’ll not 
do to crowd on Darnell, he’ll fight at the drop of a 
hat. No, we won’t have no trouble. If any of 
the boys get to fightin’, he’ll jist knock him end 
ways and that will settle it." 

“ Daddy, them fellers from across the ridge is 
already drinkin’, and they air beginnin’ to get 
noisy. They’ve got it in fer us over here," said 
Josh. 

Frank Bartman had seen very little of what was 
going on. The merry-go-round was no curiosity, 
as he had seen them at every “ to-do," back in 
Kentucky. The cluster of brown hair, tied with a 
red ribbon; the white calico dress with little red 
dots, were more to him than all the other attrac- 
tions. When she was not looking, he saw her; 
when she looked toward him, his eyes wandered 
about and saw nothing. At last the dinner hour 
came, and everything stopped, but the spreading 


The Skaggs Valley Picnic. 


97 


down the cloths for lunch. Such piles of fried 
chicken, and stacks of pies, and beet pickles, Miss 
Moss declared she never saw in all her life. The 
Bartmans and Wigginses spread their dinner to- 
gether, much to the satisfaction of Frank and 
Dixie ; and it was her supreme delight to “ pass 
things ” to the boys who sat outside the circle on 
the grass. 

“ Here you ain’t tried any of my cake yet,” she 
said offering the blushing boy a plate piled high 
with thick yellow slices. 

“ It looks terrible good, but I am about full.” 

“No you ain’t; now I made this cake and you 
won’t try it jist ’cause I made it,” she pouted. 

“ Take some, Frank,” said Gertrude, “you don’t 
know how well Dixie can cook. I’m going to take 
some over here to Josh; I know he is not ready to 
quit.” 

“ You boys ought to feel very much flattered,” 
laughed Mrs. Bartman, “ when two such pretty 
young women are urging you to eat.” 

Both boys were filled with joy at this close 
familiar interview, and the moments were precious, 
but they just blushed and sat still. 

It was near the middle of the afternoon; the 
hilarious fun-makers were putting in their best 
efforts. Gertrude and Dixie were strolling around 
with their arms around each other. They had taken 
no part except one ride on the swing. The drink- 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


98 

in g was evidently more pronounced; Lanky Joe 
had come on the ground and was under the influence 
of liquor. He was stalking about, making threats 
that he was going to dance with every “ purty gal 
on the ground, or there’d be fun.” 

“ Whew — Oh,” he said coming face to face with 
Gertrude and Dixie. “ My, but there’s a honey, 
sure ’nuff. Say, little sugar lump, I’m lookin’ fer 
the purtiest gal ’ats on the ground, to trot a few 
with me, so now come right along.” 

He advanced and made signs to take hold of 
Gertrude’s arm. She almost screamed with fright. 
Quick as a flash Dixie flew at him, and struck him 
in the face with her fan. “ Take that, Joe Tate; 
you’re not fit to look at this girl, you no ’count 
dog.” This stinging rap raised all the demon in 
the drunken man. 

“ I’ll see, you little frizzled-top witch. I’m goin’ 
to kiss this fine haired darlint jist ’cause I can, fer 
yer smartness.” Those who had been attracted by 
what was going on were afraid to interfere. Lanky 
Joe was a dangerous man; no one dared to give 
him orders, but Jim Darnell, who was on the other 
side of the crowd at the time. With face flushed 
with rage, the ruffian rushed forward and seized 
Gertrude by the arm, and was about to draw her 
to him with his other hand, when she uttered a 
scream that was heard all over the grounds. Be- 


99 


The Skaggs Valley Picnic. 

fore the crowd had fairly taken in the real situation, 
Lanky Joe lay sprawling full length on the grass, 
and the blood was streaming down his face. 

“ You low down villain/’ said young Josh 
Wiggins, who stood there trembling with pent up 
energy, and his eyes blazing like fire. Joe Tate 
did not get up at once, but writhed on the ground. 
The blow dealt by an arm that was unconscious 
of its strength had done its work. It was like the 
kick of a horse; the champion of Skaggs Valley 
did not come for a second turn. 

Gertrude rushed up to her protector and grasped 
him by the arm; her touch sent a thrill of conscious 
joy over the boy like an electric battery. 

“ Oh thank you Mr. Josh, you are so good and 
brave.” Before he could answer the girls were 
hurried away by Mrs. Bartman; and the marshall 
came up and took charge of the affair. He had 
learned the facts before he got to the scene. Lanky 
Joe had scrambled to his feet, when Jim took him 
by the collar, and pressed a pistol in his face. 

“Joe Tate, you got what you needed; now I’ll 
give you five minutes to git off these there grounds, 
and now, — I mean it.” 

Stunned and humiliated by this second taking 
down, the man who had always been regarded as 
the terror of Skaggs Valley, sneaked away mutter- 
ing curses under his breath. 

It was a history making day. Among other 


IOO 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


things Josh Wiggins made himself a champion in 
the neighborhood, and a hero in the estimation of 
Miss Moss; and the reign of Lanky Joe had ended 
in a glorious defeat. 


CHAPTER XII. 


THE SCHOOL-HOUSE. 

Besides much overhauling, it required a great 
deal of white-washing and scrubbing to regenerate 
an old building that had housed the odoriferous 
weed for a decade, to prepare it for a more re- 
spectacle calling, viz. : the intellectual development 
of Skaggs Valley. Every man in the immediate 
neighborhood, except Silas Bartman, and nearly all 
the wives and children, reported for duty on the 
day of the “ working ” at Mr. Wiggins’s tobacco 
barn. Mrs. Bartman and Frank were there, and 
took an enthusiastic interest in the proceedings. 
Far different motives may have actuated the mother 
and son, but the absence and indifference of Mr. 
Bartman was overlooked, or unnoticed; and that 
was just what was hoped for by them. 

A general oversight of the work — just how it 
should be done — was given over to Mrs. Bartman 
and Gertrude Moss. Those brawny men knew how 
to raise a log barn, but to construct the interior of 
a school-room was too esthetical for them, and 
they were glad to be told what to do. 

Two long rows of benches, made from newly 
sawn planks, were placed on each side of the room. 

IOI 


102 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


In front of each was another constructed similarly 
to those intended for seats, but higher, affording 
a back rest for the children in front, and an arm 
rest for the little tow-heads in the rear. The ceil- 
ing was high enough to have held several hogs- 
heads of the brown vegetables, in addition to the 
more preferred usage of the ground-floor, but for- 
tunately the last had been carted away to market 
early in the summer. 

When the work was completed, and the men were 
gathering up their tools preparatory to leaving, 
Mrs. Bartman and Gertrude felt that one more 
thing was necessary to round out the day’s achieve- 
ments. All day the two women, smiling and chat- 
ting with every one; had moved about among the 
men who felt the strange subtle influence of refined, 
noble womanhood. The workers were asked to be 
seated, and Gertrude made a charming little speech, 
commending them for their kindness and help. If 
she had been before a great intelligent audience, 
such as the one on her graduation day, she could not 
have put more soul and earnestness into the speech. 
The effect was marvelous. The men sat entranced, 
but at the same time felt a sense of good fortune 
in that she looked on them with favor and intimate 
friendship. She was to them an angel let down 
from the skies just to show the difference. Both 
women shook hands with every man, and told them 
all that they could expect to be visited any day. 


The School-House. 103 

A school-house in Skaggs Valley, and a bright 
young woman in charge, the largest tobacco barn in 
the mountains transformed into a place to get 
“ book lamin’,” as they called it. Truly, the un- 
heard-of had come to pass. 

“ I have something I want to tell you before we 
separate,” said Mrs. Bartman to Gertrude, as they 
were leaving the place, around which the interest 
of the neighborhood had centered in such a peculiar 
manner; this building will do more for our people 
than they can ever suspect ; these men have done to- 
day what thousands have done before; budded 
better than they knew.” 

“ I certainly hope so,” said Gertrude, “ but I 
cannot imagine what you may mean ; but it can only 
be something good, I am sure, and you may 
depend on me to help.” 

There is such a thing as spiritual discernment, 
and Mrs. Bartman, with her many other gifts had it 
— she knew that while Miss Moss was a pure, sweet 
girl, and had been under religious influences the 
greater part of her life, there was one thing lack- 
ing, and that one thing was the still small Voice 
which came to her so real and so precious, the 
dark evening when kneeling beside her dying child 
in old Kentucky. 

“ You shall know all about it, my dear, and 
share in the blessed privilege of helping; but, we 
must go slowly, and be sure we are right, as one 


104 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


of our great men once said. I will come over 
Monday morning when you open the doors of 
Faith College for matriculation,” she laughed. 

“ Now, don’t forget, I do believe my heart would 
fail me completely, if you could not be here,” said 
Gertrude with much earnestness. 

“ I cannot imagine what the dear woman has in 
her mind,” thought the girl to herself as she en- 
tered the yard gate. Her meditations came quickly 
to an end. Bud Simmons, who had not been at 
the “ working ” was trying to get Josh to let their 
dogs fight. 

“ It don’t make no difference, Bud, if your dog 
can lick mine; dogs hain’t no business fightin’,” he 
was saying. “ Hush up and go on, there comes 
the teacher. We’ll sure have no fight now.” 

“ Good evening, boys,” said Gertrude, smiling. 
“ You must both give an account of yourselves, 
you missed all the fun by not being with us to-day.” 

Josh began to stammer an excuse, and Bud let 
his dog loose and sneaked away. 

“ Why Josh, we needed your strong arms down 
there; now remember, I am your teacher, and will 
always expect you to be on hand when I say ; don’t 
you know that teachers punish their pupils when 
they are naughty ? ” 

She was standing looking him in the face, with 
a merry twinkle in her eyes. To be scolded was a 
thing Josh did not usually enjoy, but he thought 


The School-House. 105 

he had never experienced any thing- more delightful ; 
he was only sorry that his offence did not merit 
severe punishment, and he wondered what he would 
have to do to be kept in after school. 

“ He is the most perfect specimen of manhood 
I ever saw,” said the girl to herself, as she went 
into the house. “ He does not know any more than 
the rest of these people, but I believe he will know 
more; he seems like them, yet altogether different. 
There is some mystery about this family. I have 
never known a truer character than Dixie; there 
must be ancestral blood mixed up in this problem.” 
Gertrude had discovered what Mrs. Bartman saw 
the first night in Skaggs Valley. While Mrs. Wig- 
gins entertained her with bits of gossip, and non- 
sense about Becky Simmons’ turkeys, she was mak- 
ing some deductions by contrast and observation. 

Gertrude compared Josh Wiggins, rough, un- 
couth, homely in name and dress, with the fastid- 
ious Gerald Pennington, who had tried to make 
love to her, and declared he would come to the 
mountains or any where else to find her. A weak- 
ling he was in body and character, with a feminine 
voice, and foppish clothes, but wealthy. The hard 
battle for bread could have been ended by one word, 
but some how she could never say that word. 
Familiarity of a strong character and a weak one 
always “ breeds contempt,” and she had studied 
with Gerald Pennington in the high school. But 


io6 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


for his father’s money and political influence, he 
never would have graduated. In Josh Wiggins, 
she saw what was an impossibility in her St. Louis 
admirer, the making of a man ! 

“ Josh Wiggins, hain’t I told ye offun nuff, that 
this yer elm wood’s no count on airth; men folks 
’ell never larn no sense. Dixie, you trot right off 
to the spring this minit fer some water; now go 
and don’t be all day.” 

This was a sample of what might be heard all 
day long, and as the school-teacher observed the 
kind but superior grace with which the two children 
answered and obeyed, she ventured another reflec- 
tion. 

“ I am more and more convinced that there is 
an explanation.” Mr. Wiggins listened silently 
and puffed at his long green. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


TEACHING HOW TO SHOOT. 

The first day of school! Everyone can remem- 
ber with what excitement, enthusiasm, and fear we 
greeted those eventful days in the long ago. It 
meant rising earlier, books hunted out of their places 
of long retirement, faces washed and hair combed, 
and dinner-baskets. The first day was always the 
beginning of a new era to the little folks who had 
never experienced the actual coming in contact 
with a “ school-teacher; ” the older children had 
discovered that th£ teachers were just men and 
women of like passions as themselves, and some- 
times more so. However, the child that has never 
known the luxury of an old country school-house, 
in the edge of the woods, or near a creek; the big 
“ play-ground,” the coveted joy of “ passing the 
water to the school ” on a hot day, etc., may have 
enjoyed superior training in the stately graded 
schools, fully equipped with the latest methods of 
teaching; sliding down the fire escape, etc.; but they 
have missed a chapter in life which nothing can 
duplicate. The modern gymnasium idea for chil- 
dren cannot be compared or enjoyed like “ town 
1 07 


io8 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


ball ” and “ blackman ” at noon hour and recess 
in the days of yore. 

The first day of school began for over forty 
pupils, ranging in ages from six to sixteen; forty 
children who never saw the inside of a school-room ; 
forty children who had never been introduced to 
the fundamental A B C’s. There was no difficulty 
about organization or adjusting the grades; the 
entire school was a primer-class. Miss Moss 
showed great tact, however, in forming classes 
of the same age and sex to occupy their own seat. 

Frank Bartman, was not present to enroll the 
first day; his father declared that he should not 
attend until every “ lick of work is done ; all he’s 
after is to be where ’e kin look at that gal ov Wash 
Wiggins’s. He never larned nothin’ in Kintucky, 
where ’e did ’ave a school ’at was fitten to go to.” 
The days dragged themselves along slowly for 
poor Frank; some how a new inspiration had come 
to him, and he had resolved to improve himself 
more than he had ever done, if permitted again to 
enter school. The dense ignorance all about him 
had not only stimulated, but alarmed the boy. 

“ You hurry up your work, Frank, this week, 
and if nothing happens you shall begin next Mon- 
day,” said Mrs. Bartman to her son, the second 
morning of the school. “ Father has one of his 
cross spells on, now, and we shall hope and pray 
that he may give in.” 


Teaching How to Shoot. 109 

“ Mother, I never saw pap when he did not have 
a cross spell. There hain’t nothin’ but growl and 
grumble from morning till night; there’s nothin’ 
’at suits him. He ain’t no better now than when 
he could see Old Jim Cluckston driving to meetin’ 
every Sunday.” 

“ The trouble, my boy, with your father is not 
Kentucky, churches, school-houses, or school-teach- 
ers ; but it is with himself. There is no remedy for 
him except God to humble, and bring him to repent- 
ance. I trust you will learn a great lesson ; you see 
he is no more happy or contented than when the 
so-called hypocrites bothered him.” 

“ Well, it will be my time, afterwhile. He won’t 
alius boss me around.” 

“Don’t say that, Frank; God is moving in a 
very strange way, in this whole affair ; and I believe 
there is coming a time when we can all be thankful 
for a home in this valley.” 

Frank was already thankful that he had come, 
and as soon as he could join Miss Moss, and — the 
school; his tongue almost gave away what was in 
his heart, there would be no further grounds for ob- 
jection on his part. He worked in the tobacco 
patch until noon, all unconscious of his surround- 
ings. He was enjoying the luxury of youthful day- 
dreams. 

He who never dreams, never does a thing worth 
while. The deed, the purpose, the ambition must 


no 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


first be a mental reality — it must be conceived — 
lived over and enjoyed in the imagination. We 
shall leave it to the psychologist to settle whether 
Frank Bartman’s sub-conscious air-castles were the 
foretokens of noble manhood and high ideals, or 
the afflatus of a passionate fancy — the necessary 
inevitable conditions of sweethearts in their teens. 
Be it as it may, Frank was beginning to dream. 

Let us now take a peep into the Skaggs Valley 
school at roll call. Miss Moss is standing near the 
door, in front of Mrs. Bartman, greeting each one 
with a smile. There were no preconceived notions ; 
no remembering how the other teachers had done. 
Each child was told to take a seat; before nine 
o’clock all the children secured by the canvas, and 
five more besides had reported for business: the 
Browns, Welches, Swinkses, Simmonses, Conrods, 
Coulters, Scroggins, Deppins, Newmans, and Tink- 
leys — numbering by families from three to five. 
Everyone was the personification of curiosity, 
eagerness, and wonder. 

After Miss Moss had made a characteristic talk, 
much of which had not the remotist meaning for 
the children, she called all the largest girls to take 
the back seats on one side, and the largest boys the 
other. It required but a short time to finish this 
arrangement, so that the little “ tots ” were on the 
front row ; their eyes wide open. Everything went 
Smoothly until the pressure had become too great 


Teaching How to Shoot. 


1 1 1 


on the nervous system o little Willy Scroggins, the 
youngest child present. Once when the teacher 
started toward him for some reason, he rolled off 
the seat, and raised a yell that echoed against the 
timber near-by. For nearly half an hour the school 
programme was suspended; and, notwithstanding 
the smiles, sweet talk, and all kinds of promises, he 
refused to be comforted. Gertrude declared to 
Mrs. Bartman afterwards that Willy’s bellows 
capacity surpassed any thing she had ever heard. 
“ He will never need deep breathing exercises to 
develop a chest.” The older Scroggins children did 
not move out of their seats, and after both women 
had become almost desperate over their vain at- 
tempts to quiet the child, they appealed to “ Mar- 
thann,” his older sister. 

“ There hain’t nothing but lasses cake will ever 
stop him when Vs got them spells,” she said when 
asked what could be done with the child who had 
lost his breath and become blue in the face. 

“ For goodness sake,” said Miss Moss, “ can any 
one present supply him with something sweet. I 
would be willing to give him cake enough to last 
him a week if it will keep him from crying.” 

“ We’ve got lasses,” spoke up Purdy Deppins, 
“ but its spread on corn pone.” 

“ It’s lasses and flour cake ’at ’e likes.” 

Mrs. Bartman had taken the youngster in her 
lap, and not until she promised to send him some 


I 12 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


“ sure ’nuff candy,” if he would be good, did this 
future American citizen, show any signs of an 
armistice from hostilities. All this created a gen- 
eral titter among the children, and Mrs. Bartman 
bit her lip to see how beautifully little Willy accepted 
her proposition. When quiet was restored, Miss 
Moss came close to Mrs. Bartman and whispered: 
“ What would I have done if you had not been 
here?” 

“ Now children,” she went on, “ we must begin ; 
all the little girls on the front seat may come up 
here and tell me their names, and then we will re- 
cite.” Of course, they had no idea what they were 
going to do, or what was going to be done to them ; 
but eight little faded pink and blue dresses stood 
around the teacher, whom they much preferred to 
view at a long distance, as we would view a snow- 
capped mountain. However, the graceful stroke 
of the hand and the sweet smile soon won their 
favor and confidence. Miss Moss had supplied 
herself with a variety of large — out of date ABC 
books, as she did not think of trying any of the 
modern methods. About one hour from the open- 
ing, on that warm summer morning, the first class 
of Skaggs Valley was unconsciously tugging at the 
first stages of gray-matter evolution. For two long 
hours one group after another was taken through 
the tiresome process of trying to remember and 
pronounce the first letters of the alphabet. 


Teaching How to Shoot. 


1 *3 


“ Now Tommy,” said the teacher to a blowsy- 
headed chap of seven, (supposed to be seven, as 
very few knew anything about their ages) “ what 
do you say this big funny looking letter is, which 
we saw this morning — there, at the top.” 

“ What do you say ’tis? ” 

“ Oh, but. Tommy, I must know whether you 
know or not. How many times did we say it over 
and over this morning; now think real hard — what 
to say ? ” 

There was a look of disgust on the boy’s face; 
he came to school under protest, and the more he 
saw of the inside workings of the school-room, the 
more Tommy was bored. The boy had several 
mental visions of the cool swimming-hole on 
Sames creek; why anyone should be compelled to 
be shut up all day long, and not be allowed to move 
or speak out loud, or even whisper, was a problem 
of such gigantic proportions that he was amazed 
over it. 

There were several indignation meetings held by 
the boys at the noon recess, and a great deal of 
boasting about running off ; but the other lads would 
say : “ But ye won’t — yer dasen’t.” 

Mutiny was declared among the boys, but most 
of the girls seemed to be taken with the big bright 
letters, and accompanying pictures. With few ex- 
ceptions, the day closed with a crowd of worried, 
restless children ; and with the teacher a tired body, 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


114 

brain, and heart; discouraged almost to the point 
of desperation. 

Summoning all her remaining courage, she told 
them a bright little story, before giving them their 
long-sought liberty. Mrs. Bartman had left her 
soon after little Willy surrendered by faith in what 
she promised; hence the real battle of the day was 
fought alone. Dixie did not attend the first day, 
and therefore she was without the companionship 
of the girl for whom she had formed a strange 
attachment. 

Very little was said that night at the supper-table. 
Mrs. Wiggins volunteered her usual opinions and 
criticisms, all of which had no meaning; but Mr. 
Wiggins saw that Gertrude was over-taxed from 
the day’s experience, and he shifted the conversa- 
tion to other matters. 

“ I am very tired, Dixie,” she said, after supper, 
“ and if you don’t mind I will retire.” 

This was a disappointment to the girl, as they 
were accustomed every night to sit outside under 
the trees, and enjoy the cool evening air. 

Gertrude drew her bed close to the window, 
where she could watch the moon getting above the 
range of hills that looked indistinct and far away. 
The pale light glistened on the rocky crags of 
Lover’s Leap. A stillness was beginning to settle 
over the Valley. The querulous hoot of an owl, 
could be heard from a tall tree on Thompsons 


ll S 


Teaching How to Shoot. 

Bald — as if protesting against the loneliness of the 
old hillside. The soft night breeze that floated 
across the valley, gathering what perfume remained 
with the lingering flowers, came gently through 
the open window and soothed the tired girl into 
a little doze. In those few moments a whole day 
of teaching experience racked every nerve in her 
body. She awoke more tired than before ; the moon 
had quietly climbed above the highest points of the 
dim landscape; the girl’s eyes wandered from the 
shadowy outlines of Twin Peaks and swept across 
the valley. “ How beautiful — it is surely glorious.” 

For a moment every care was forgotten, while 
the soul through the eye feasted on the tranquil 
scene before it. A cloud of “ long green ” smoke 
arose from the porch below and entered the win- 
dow, reminding her that she was still on the earth 
or near-by, at least. 

She arose on her elbow to fan the strong odor 
away, when her eyes caught sight of something 
that caused her to almost shudder. At the point 
where the over-hanging craggs of Lover’s Leap 
could be seen day or night was the huge outline of a 
great ferocious beast, crouched as if preparing to 
spring upon its prey . 


CHAPTER XIV. 


ANOTHER SURPRISE. 

Tpie Skaggs Valley school was somewhat de- 
pleted by Friday afteroon. As soon as the novelty 
was over, the larger boys began to plan excuses 
for getting away. Mental labor was so new to 
them, that they gladly welcomed any pretence to 
remain at home. 

“ I’d ruther maul rails, any day,” said Tom 
Brown, “ than ter learn that stuff.” Most of the 
delinquent children were visited by the teacher on 
Saturday, and from each she secured a promise 
to return on Monday. 

“ We are going to spend most of the time, each 
afternoon learning how to sing; I know you 
you all love music.” She did not expect to lead 
them very soon into the mysteries of do re me ; but 
anything as an expediency to keep them interested. 
As there were some new features announced for 
Monday, all of the beginning number except one or 
two, answered for roll-call, with Frank and Dixie 
in addition. 

It was a trying experience for Gertrude Moss, 
whose entire school knowledge and training had 

1 1 6 


Another Surprise. 117 

been according to the definite rule and system. 
She thought of her associates who secured positions 
in city schools, and had but to adjust themselves 
to a well-arranged course of study. With her, 
everything must be originated, and not by any 
known system of pedagogy on earth. Her inge- 
nuity and tact were kept constantly at high pressure. 

Dixie Wiggins became much interested in her 
books, as soon as Miss Moss came to their home; 
and her attachment for her teacher was another 
open door to her new aspirations. Miss Moss 
found that Dixie’s mind though untrained in every 
capacity of mental effort, was exceedingly bright. 
By the time she entered school, the second week, 
she was reading easily in the first reader. 

The promise of Frank Bartman’s mother was 
fulfilled ; on the second Monday morning after 
listening to a severe scolding from his father, he 
gathered up his soiled and almost forgotten books 
and started across the field toward the old tobacco- 
barn. It was more than starting to school with 
Frank ; it was the dawn of a new era, of purpose, at 
least. It was known to many, especially Mr. Wig- 
gins’s family, that Frank had attended school be- 
fore and when he appeared on the school floor 
with a large fourth reader, the children were 
amazed. His reading was poor but no one except 
himself and the teacher knew it. 

“ I’m goin’ to catch up with you ; see if I don’t,” 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


1 18 

said Dixie, during the noon hour. “ I’ll be mighty 
glad ef ye do,” replied Frank. “ Let’s us git down 
and study hard, and jist be in a class to ourselfs. 
I know you’re smarter than me, and I’ll not hurry 
so’s you’ll soon be up.” 

“ Oh you don’t mean that,” said Dixie, blushing. 
“ I know I ain’t smarter than nobody, but I’m 
going to be like Miss Moss. She knows everything, 
don’t she? ” 

So the school days began in Skaggs Valley. 
Gertrude felt that just two ambitious pupils, anx- 
ious to learn, with the other novel experiences that 
were coming to her, more than compensated the 
loss of advantages and associations. 

“ I shall never forget my coming to the Ozarks,” 
she wrote a friend, “ There are some real diamonds 
buried away in these hills. You cannot imagine 
how far removed these people are from every- 
thing that the world seems to care for; but they 
are human, capable of loving, and hungry to be 
loved. I told you in a previous letter of the picnic 
experience, and how I was rescued by young Mr. 
Wiggins ; well he becomes more manly all the time. 
I have never seen a more handsome face or perfect 
physique; with half the chances of many young 
men we know, he would be a leader. Nature could 
not improve on him, though he is ignorant in 
speech and manners, but brave and noble at heart.” 

Often when Josh tried to manifest the natural 


Another Surprise. 1 1 9 

chivalry of his character, with blunders and em- 
barrassments, a secret hope would steal into the 
girl’s mind, only to be rejected with a little mental 
protest, but somehow it would return. 

Miss Moss felt that her duties were greatly 
enlarged, when at last Josh was ready to become 
her pupil. She had longed for an opportunity to 
draw out what she was sure lay buried deep down 
in the mire of environment. 

“ Do ye reckon, I can ever learn how, so I’d be 
like you and the folks at lives in the big cities?” 
he said to her one day, as she sat on the wood pile, 
chatting with him while he split stove-wood. 

“ I don’t reckon anything about it, Josh, but I 
just know you can. You are far ahead of many 
young men I know, who have done nothing all their 
lives but go to school, and study nice manners.” 
Her mind called up Gerald Pennington, with his 
cheap, society polish ; and as she was sure, dissolute 
habits. 

“ Now ye don’t mean that,” said Josh, showing 
more ease and self-confidence than usual. “ I 
couldn’t never be like them fine fellers, that you’ve 
got their pictures.” 

Among a multitude of other bric-a-brac which 
Gertrude had brought along, was her large collec- 
tion of photographs nearly all of which were of 
her friends in St. Louis. In this collection was an 
old tin daguerrotype, enclosed in a worn leather 


120 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


case and fastened with a clasp. It was the picture 
of a tall, rough mountaineer. Her foster parents 
had given it to her, with the instruction to keep it, 
but from no one was she able to find out to whom 
the original belonged. She had guessed, but was 
never sure. 

“Josh, I would rather risk your chances of be- 
coming a noble, useful man, than any of those finely 
dressed fellows. ,, 

“ I can’t see as how that could ever be,” he said 
slowly, his heart thumping until he feared she could 
hear it. “ Don’t all fine people have to dress and 
look like them pichures.” 

“No, I should think not; it is the heart filled 
with brave, noble purposes, that makes a gentleman, 
and not fine clothes. Don’t you remember that big 
butterfly I caught the other day? It was covered 
with beautiful spots, and moons, and bright shin- 
ing colors: you know when I let it go, the beauty 
had all rubbed off; well that is just what happens 
to men and women who have no beauty on the 
inside.” 

“ I’d work my finger nails off tryin’, if you’d 
help me,” said he, dropping the axe and seating 
himself on a big log near her. “If you’d never 
’av come here, I would not of knowed any better.” 

“To think that I have helped you in any way, 
pays me a hundred times, for all it has or will 
cost me to be here.” 


Another Surprise. 


I 21 


“ Honsetly, Miss Moss, did ye ever see anybody 
at knowed as little as me? Since I seed you, 
I ” 

“ Now you just hush/' she said, jumping up 
and placing her little embroidered handkerchief 
over his mouth. “ I won’t let you flatter me any 
more.” Gertrude was beginning to anticipate the 
awkward drift of Josh’s conversation, and took 
this sly method of stopping it, before anything 
should be said to embarrass them. 

“ Now see here, what will your mother do to us ; 
don’t you see what a little tiny bit of wood is cut? 
You get right up and go to work.” Before she had 
finished these words Josh was adjusting the “ hack- 
block ” for another pole. A slave never obeyed 
a master with more promptness. 

“ Oh, I just thought of it; I can boss the Samp- 
son of Skaggs Valley, and he minds me without a 
word — that is more than that big Joe Tate can do.” 
And she laughed a merry little ripple. 

“ You’re right there; they hain’t no other person 
that I’d mind lessen I wanted to,” he replied, be- 
ginning to appreciate the fun. Without another 
word he worked away with double energy; and 
Gertrude watched him swing the heavy axe with 
real satisfaction. 

“ There now,” he said at length, “ will that be 
enough ? ” 

“ Let me see, well, I guess you may stop ; but to- 


122 


The Vulture's Claw. 


morrow afternoon I shall be right here and see that 
you don’t get out of your duty. If you will be real 
good, you may sit down — well, there on the end 
of this log.” 

They sat silently for a long time, Josh looking at 
the pile of chips he had scraped together with his 
feet; Gertrude gazing at the spot where the old 
Goshen road wound around Thompsons Bald, 
and under Lover’s Leap, like a red and yellow 
strand. 

“ Have you noticed,” she said, half unconsci- 
ously, that many of the leaves are turning? ” 

“ Yes, I think so.” 

“ Do you love the autumn woods, Josh ? ” 

“ Alius did, better’n any time.” 

“ Why ? I had believed that everyone loved 
springtime better than the other seasons.” 

“ Can’t tell as why I do, but everything looks so 
sad and lonesome like. It makes a feller wonder 
what everything is fur.” 

“ What is that spot we can see ? ” said Gertrude, 
pointing toward the lower end of Devil’s Back- 
bone. The sun had gone down behind the range of 
hills, and the whole valley was lying in a shadow; 
Twin Peaks were smiling a good-night to the 
retreating rays. 

“ I see two things,” replied Josh, “ the first looks 
like a man riding on horseback, coming down the 


Another Surprise. 123 

road; Mother is the graveyard where everybody’s 
kinfolks is buried.” 

“ Oh, is there a real old graveyard so near ? I 
love to visit such places.” 

The lonely horseman disappeared behind a clump 
of woods near Lover’s Leap. Mrs. Wiggins called 
for some wood to finish supper, and Josh took one 
load in and was returning for the second, piling 
his left arm to his chin with the fuel, when the 
man on horseback halted at the gate. His features 
could not be distinguished in the twilight. The 
stranger spoke in a weak trembling voice. Josh 
threw down his wood and went to the fence. 

“ I am hunting for the home of Mrs. Bartman,” 
said the speaker, “ but I am so sick and weak that 
I came to the first light I saw.” 

Josh came near enough to the speaker to see that 
his face was bruised and bleeding. “ What on 
earth has happened? You look like a stuck hog.” 

“ Nothing, except I met a big ruffian whom I 
asked for guidance and when I told him my name 
and business, he said I was not needed in this 
country, and jerked me from my horse before I 
knew it; and you see what has happened.” 

“ Let me help you down,” said Josh, “ who on 
earth are you? There — easy now. My! but you 
got the worst of this deal.” 

“ My name is Carson, said the young man, “ I 
am a Methodist preacher.” 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE WATERS TROUBLED. 

It was not long before all the people in the 
Valley knew of the arrival of Rev. Thomas Carson; 
and that he was met on Devil’s Backbone by a man, 
who after trying to scare him at the point of a 
pistol, but failing, took him from his horse and 
beat him unmercifully. 

It was several days before Mr. Carson recovered 
sufficiently to get out of bed. Mr. Wiggins insisted 
on his remaining with them until he was able to 
do his work. Notwithstanding the minute descrip- 
tion given by the minister of his assailant, no one 
was sure that the man could be named. But for the 
urgent request of the preacher, a number of men, 
Mr. Wiggins among them, had resolved to bring 
every suspect before him for identification, until 
the guilty man was caught. 

“ I do not wish to see him,” said the young min- 
ister, “ until his conscience brings him to repent- 
ance. If that can never be, I shall wait until we 
meet at the judgment.” 

“ It’s jist like Lanky Joe,” said Josh to his father, 
“ but the size and all don’t tally to him. There 

124 


The Waters Troubled. 


I2 5 

hain’t a nother man ’at’s mean enough, that I know 
ov but him.” 

“ At first hearin’, I’d a bet my place that Joe Tate 
had a hand in it,” remarked the father, “ but there’s 
a mighty queer thing in it all. We’ll be mighty 
surprised, I’m thinkin’ when we do find out.” 

“ Mr. Wiggins, do you really think any one near 
here could be mean enough to abuse an innocent 
man that way ? ” asked Gertrude, who had over- 
heard the conversation, from an adjoining room. 

“ There’s no tellin’, I used to hear an old 
preacher, when I was a boy, who said ‘ the devil 
is the busiest person on earth, and you didn’t know 
what ’e wus a-goin’ to do next.’ If there be any sich 
bein’, he’s had full swing in this region, ’till he 
thinks he owns us all.” 

“ I just like Mr. Carson,” the girl said, “ he is so 
handsome and intelligent. I wonder how he hap- 
pened to come here.” 

When Gertrude finished these words, Josh left 
the room — something had been said that fell like 
lead on his heart. A new passion had been aroused, 
and he felt that he must get away before he choked 
or fainted. Oh these human hearts; they are all 
strangely akin; be they found in palace or hovel, 
scholar or backwoodsman, philosopher or fool; all 
alike are subject to the same universal law of cause 
and effect. Love, jealousy, hate, envy, are found 
in every heart, without respect of person. Josh 


126 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


Wiggins, who was a stranger to anything low or 
mean, disliked the unfortunate young preacher; 
why, he did not know, but it was the same old 
story: He saw in the cultured young man a rival; 
and his sensitive nature could but contrast himself 
with one who had all the graces of manner and 
speech. His zeal for the coward’s punishment soon 
cooled off, and he took no part in the conversations, 
as to whom it was or what should be done in the 
matter. 


While this interesting conversation was going on, 
another with considerably more animation was in 
progress at the mill. A dozen men from different 
parts of the neighborhood, had sought the one com- 
mon center ; a place where the past, present, and fu- 
ture might be thoroughly aired and thrashed out 
any day in the year. Old Tom opened the engage- 
ment; he always had the happy faculty of touching 
the sensitive spot of Skaggs Valley happenings, so 
as to provoke a lively clash of words. 

“ That feller, whoever ’e is, ’at thumped the par- 
son, spectin’ to run ’im out, was barkin’ up the 
wrong tree. I hear as how he’s makin’ ’rangements 
to hang up for a spell.” 

“ He’s a sickly-lookin’ duck,” said another, “ but 
there’s no end to his nerve.” The description had 


The Waters Troubled. 


12 7 


been given out, so that no one believed Lanky Joe 
to be guilty; this fact opened the way for much 
freerer speech, especially when Joe happened to be 
around, as he was on this occasion. From all that 
could be surmised, or found out, the earth had ap- 
parently opened its mouth and swallowed up the 
man who had given the preacher such a rough 
reception. 

“ He got jist what ’e needed,” blurted out Lanky 
Joe, “ I reckon it’s bin laid on me, as the feller 
that walloped ’im, but I’m mighty sorry that their 
mistaken. I’ve done had my fill of them preachers 
long ago, and if this chap ever crosses my path his 
mother ’ll not know ’im when she gits his remains.” 

Old Tom then threw another explosive, especially 
for Joe, by mentioning the intimate friendship that 
had sprung up between Josh Wiggins and the 
preacher; but no one dared to interject a word at 
this critical moment, especially when Joe was pres- 
ent. The picnic experience at Brown’s had taken 
a great deal of the boast out of Joe; yet no one 
cared to provoke his wrath. 

He sprang to his feet, and his eyes blazed ; he was 
keenly sensitive to what each one would think, at 
the very mention of the young champion’s name. 

“ Let me drap you a leetle pinter,” said Joe, giv- 
ing due emphasis with an oath, “ that young buck 
ain’t alius goin’ to be a minor; and I ain’t alius 
goin’ to be tanked up. He can do his crowin’ now ; 


128 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


I’m keepin’ still, but the blood ’at runs in the Tate 
tribe never showed a white feather, nor white liver, 
no siree.” 

There was no rejoinder to this threatening proph- 
ecy; it was often rumored and believed that he 
had taken a leading part in a bloody feud, in West 
Virginia. All the people knew of his past life was 
only what he chose to let fall at times. Tate had no 
people in the Ozarks, but he did have a large follow- 
ing of dangerous men, scattered among the moun- 
tains. 

“Well,” said old Tom, changing the subject 
back to the preacher, “ if that preacher’s preachin’ 
equals his grit, he’ll be gettin’ us all converted, as 
they used to call it when I was a boy. My, but I 
kin remember as how them old surkit riders ’ud 
shake sinners over a brimstone pit, till we could 
jist natchur’ly feel our carcasses a sizzin’. Say, 
they used to git religion in them days. If this chap 
kin put up the kind ’uv preachin’ I’ve hearn, there’ll 
be a sight doin’ round here. Say, fellers,” he went 
on, his voice showing a depth of feeling and sin- 
cerity, “wish to goodness we could have some of 
them meetin’s, sich as they had them days.” 

“ Jist listen,” said Lanky Joe, with a sneering 
laugh, “ one mourner a-ready, afore the meetin’ 
comes on.” 

“ Look a-yonder, be-granny,” said one of the 
listeners. All eyes were turned up the Old Goshen 


The Waters Troubled. 


129 


road. “ Now ye’ll all ’ave a chance to put up a 
bluff, for that’s him a-comin,’ right yonder.” About 
one hundred yards from the mill they saw the much 
talked-of man ; curiosity was soon at high pitch, for 
as yet very few had seen him. 

“ Good-morning, gentlemen,” he said, slipping 
easily from the saddle, and approaching the group, 
leaving his brown filly that was trained to stand 
without being hitched. “ My name is Carson, and 
I’m a Methodist preacher; we go where we are sent, 
and, of course, that means my coming to this 
country was the work of my conference.” While 
saying these words he began to go from one to the 
other, shaking their hands with a firm grip. When 
the minister first came up Lanky Joe edged around 
to the opposite side of the crowd and was making 
a strenuous effort to beat a retreat. His move- 
ments were observed by the preacher, and before he 
could get to his yellow mare the energetic young 
man rushed up to him, laid his hand gently on his 
shoulder, saying as he did so : “ Excuse me, 
brother, but I want to meet you before you go.” 

Instead of answering Tate lurched himself aside, 
and scowling his shaggy eyebrows, looking more 
the animal than the man, blurted out with an oath : 
“ I don’t ’low no stranger to tech me with his hand, 
and if ye do it agin it’ll not be good fur ye. I’ve 
done had all of your sort I want; now, ye hearn 
what I said.” 


i3° 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


“ I am very sorry indeed, if you have had an 
unfortunate experience with ministers of the Gos- 
pel, ” was the kind reply. “ The world is full of 
shams in all walks of life, but I am come among 
you to be your friend and help in any way I can. 
While I was sent here by authority, I came first of 
all because I love just such a place as this valley in 
which to preach the Gospel. Won’t you come to 
the tobacco barn next Sunday morning at ten 
o’clock, we ” 

“ I may come,” said Tate, “ but it’ll not be to 
hear none of your tom-foolery.” So saying, he 
rushed for his horse and was gone before another 
word could be spoken. 

“ May the Lord bless and save him,” said the 
preacher to himself, “ I shall pray earnestly that he 
may be made to see the awful deception of Satan.” 
Then turning to the men he said: “Friends, I 
shall be pleased to see you and your families at the 
old barn next Sunday morning.” 

“ We’ll sure be there, preacher, and stand by 
your meetin’,” said one of the men; and they kept 
their word. 

A report of the preacher’s tilt with Lanky Joe 
spread all over the valley, and, as is usually the 
case, whether it be in a fashionable city church or 
a backwoods meeting-house, a promised sensation 
never fails to draw a crowd. Again, the world is 
akin ; of one blood hath He made us all. There are 


The Waters Troubled. 131 

innate principles, found alike in mansion and hovel, 
king and peasant, priest and reprobate, broadcloth 
and jeans, silk and calico, that touch a common level. 
Before the hour of service, on Sunday morning a 
motely congregation filled to overflowing the 
tobacco-barn school-house. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


THE DISTURBER AT CLOSE RANGE. 

Promptly at ten o’clock, Rev. Thomas Carson 
entered the building at a side door, and took his 
position on the rude rostrum used by Miss Moss. 
For some days the coming Sunday events had been 
discussed among the children at school, where the 
preacher had visited a few times to emphasize the 
announcement. 

Thomas Carson was a college man, having 
studied the art of public address and was a master 
of assemblies ; his very appearance would command 
the attention of any audience. The innuendo threat 
of Joe Tate, was, no doubt, a large factor in bring- 
ing together the citizens of Skaggs Valley, even to 
Raz Wilson, who lived at the lower end of the bend. 

Two years before, our young preacher had left 
the seminary, carrying away honors that attracted 
attention among men high up in ecclesiastical 
circles. This reputation would have insured him a 
delightful pastorate in some city, where he would 
have been surrounded by wealth and culture. All 
this could have been his for the asking, but he chose 
rather to cast his lot in a new conference, taking 
132 


The Disturber at Close Range. 133 


chances among the many hard charges sure to be 
found there. In conversation, one day, with a 
young fellow “ Theolog,” the question came up 
about their prospective fields of labor. Mr. Carson 
said to his friend : “ I suppose you will likely go to 
Savoy City/’ He was expecting to join the confer- 
ence at the next session and many of his warm 
friends lived at this place; it had been hinted he 
was going to be asked for by influential men of that 
charge. 

“ Oh, no, that place only pays seven hundred dol- 
lars/’ he replied quickly. “ When a man has spent 
as many years in preparation as I have, the church 
should show more recognition than to send him to 
a charge where his scholarship will not be appreci- 
ated.” 

“ Well, I think I could get a good place in my 
home conference; my father has had a standing 
there for many years, but I expect to spend a few 
years in the mountains, where they never heard of 
a salary. My heart was stirred recently by an 
article I read on the conditions of the people in the 
Ozarks of Missouri.” 

“ You can have all that kind of martyrdom you 
want, but please excuse me.” And the “ Theolog ” 
struck an attitude in keeping with the sentiments 
he had expressed. 

“ Well, as a man called of God to the ministry, 
it is my duty to go where there are lost men, and 


*34 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


where there is the greatest need of the Gospel,” 
Carson replied emphatically. 

“ Why don’t you apply to the mission board and 
go to the heathen and be done with it,” the other 
asked with a show of pertness. 

“ We don’t have to go to the foreign field to be 
consecrated, and the greatest needs are not always 
in the regions beyond,” said Carson. “ If condi- 
tions in the mountains of our State and Missouri 
have been honestly reported we truly have the 
heathen at our own door. Those who go abroad 
have many advantages, such as travel and sight- 
seeing that the workers in those obscure places at 
home never dream of having. This world needs a 
practical demonstration of Christianity here at 
home ; half of the people we touch elbows with daily 
have no faith in us or our sincerity. The greatest 
problem before the church to-day is to stop the tides 
of paganism that are sweeping over us. America 
is rapidly approaching a crisis; applied Christianity 
is the only power that can save us from revolution. 
Our Sabbath is a dead letter, worldliness is sapping 
the church of her spiritual power, sordid commer- 
cialism and covetousness is destroying the Christ 
idea of altruism; until brain and culture are will- 
ing to be spent in obscure places, free from a desire 
to be in the public eye, the world will not respect 
our Christly profession.” 

“ I think you are taking yourself and your voca- 


The Disturber at Close Range. 135 

tion entirely too seriously," said the “ Theolog.” 
“ Because a man enters the ministry I do not see 
that he is called upon to give up every pleasant re- 
lationship of life. My conscience makes no such 
demands on me.” 

“ The Bible is very explicit, and the Master's 
words cannot be misconstrued/' replied Carson. 
“ If religion means anything at all, it means a life 
of self-denial, and I feel as definitely called, sup- 
port or no support, to carry the light to those be- 
nighted mountaineers, as Paul was called to Mace- 
donia." 

The ambitious “ Theolog " got what he wanted ; 
a splendid pastorate, paying one thousand dollars; 
and, as our readers have already learned, after the 
second year, Rev. Thomas Carson was read out by 
the bishop to the Rocktown circuit, a charge which 
embraced several counties in the heart of the 
Ozarks. With the locality and conditions of one 
point on his work our readers are already familiar. 

The audience was fully anticipating a scene that 
would eclipse anything in the history of the valley, 
owing to the rumors of Joe Tate's threat. The 
preacher was present, ready for business, according 
to announcement, but Lanky Joe as yet had not 
put in an appearance. 

Mr. Carson made a striking impression as he 
stood before them with a look of majesty on his 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


136 

face. An army never waited for orders from an 
officer with more submission than this company 
waited eagerly and silently for developments. 

At first sight, Mr. Carson did have the “ sickly 
look/’ as they called it, but a closer view revealed a 
strong character ; that mysterious, subtle power 
which is known by a number of names, viz. : mag- 
netism, personality, psychical force and strength of 
character; he was master of the situation. Mrs. 
Bartman and Gertrude, who were capable of appre- 
ciating the best, knew that a man stood before them. 

“ We shall open our service, to-day,” he said, in 
a clear, soft voice, “ by singing an old song that, 
I trust you may know and be able to help me 
with.” 

“ How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord ; 

Is laid for your faith, in his excellent word.” 


He lined for them in the old-fashioned way. 
The sweet melody filled the great building, and the 
echoes rang in the forest near-by. Everyone was 
thrilled, and the message in song swept their hearts 
with emotion. During the second verse, a man 
sneaked out from a clump of bushes, and came 
close to the door, as if about to enter; but stopped 
suddenly. 

“ Fear not I am with you, oh be not dismayed; 

I, I am thy God, and will still give thee aid.” 

At the conclusion of this stanza, the man hurried 


The Disturber at Close Range. 137 


back to the brush and disappeared. When the 
song was finished, the preacher said : “ Let us all 

bow on our knees in prayer and ask a blessing from 
our Heavenly Father,” whereupon, most of them 
did so ; they had not learned the art of stiffness and 
disorder in the house of God. 

The prayer was simple, but unctious ; the minister 
talked out of his heart, carrying the names of all he 
had learned to the throne of mercy. Scarcely the 
scraping of a foot could be heard in the big room ; 
a sublime awe seemed to pervade the atmosphere. 
It was all so new and strange, it was more than that, 
it was wonderful; every rough man and fidgety 
child was conscious of a power that kept him silent. 

Old Tom sat near the aisle, and when the prayer 
was ended, he took a large red handkerchief from 
the crown of his hat and wiped away the tears that 
welled up in his eyes. No one before had ever 
seen Tom Diggs weep. 

“ Brethren, and friends,” began the preacher, 
“ I rejoice this morning over the happy privilege 
of opening a work in your beautiful Valley; and 
furthermore, that such a splendid congregation 
greets our first service.” Then he told of how 
he had been led by an unseen Hand to open new 
fields of labor, rather than preach in the places 
where religion was already established. “ I want 
to preach to you, from this Book,” he said, holding 
above his head the Bible. “ It is the greatest book 


The Vulture's Claw. 


138 

on earth; God wrote it. This book tells us all 
about ourselves, and about God, and how we must 
treat each other.” 

The style was direct, and effective; the words 
came from the preacher’s heart, and they felt it. 

“ The Book says that God is love, that He loves 
us. How are we to know this? Let me tell you: 
Here is a man who has committed a great crime ; he 
has been tried and found guilty, the law says he 
must hang; but before the trap is sprung,- a man 
steps up and says — ‘ I will die for him/ The man 
is released, and the innocent one suffers the black 
cap to be drawn over his head and he is hanged. 
Now that is just what God has done for us, through 
Christ. We all like sheep have gone astray; we are 
awful sinners; who said so? The Book — and our 
hearts, say so; we know it. Everyone deserves 
to be lost, but God sent His only Son, and He was 
nailed to the cross and died that we might live. 
Listen: God so loved the world, that He gave 
His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth on 
Him might not perish, but have everlasting life.” 

The people listened with rapt attention to this 
strange message. The speaker closed with a strik- 
ing illustration which carried the truth with con- 
victing force to every heart. 

“ Now, friends, in conclusion, I want all who 
think you ought to give up your sins and serve 
God, who loves you and has done so much for you ; 


The Disturber at Close Range. 139 

just come up here that I may take you by the 
hand.” 

Mrs. Bartman and Gertrude led the way, and 
scores of men and women thronged about the 
preacher. 

“ In one month from to-day, I shall be here 
again, and we hope to be able to protract the meet- 
ing every night for at least a week.” Raising his 
hand, he pronounced a benediction upon the people. 

“ I’m powerful glad you’ve come,” said Old Tom 
to Mr. Carson, as they bade each other good-bye, 
“ You kin count on me.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 


A HUMOROUS ACCIDENT. 

The social life of Skaggs Valley had suffered 
another severe shock. The opening of the school 
by a polite up-to-date young woman from the city 
was considered nothing less than revolutionary; 
but from the day of Rev. Thomas Carson’s arrival, 
the school matters were relegated to the list of the 
hum-drum, and the question of religion moved at 
once to the front. 

In the meantime, Gertrude worked faithfully to 
gain the confidence and love of the parents as well 
as the children. The attendance became more 
steady; Josh made slow progress, but light was 
gradually breaking in upon him, while Dixie’s 
advancement was quite phenomenal. Among the 
hundreds of pupils she had known, Miss Moss 
declared Dixie to be superior to any she had ever 
met. Josh had volunteered his services as sexton, 
now that winter was coming on, and each morning 
had the big room warm and clean. 

By slow degrees these young people had thrown 
off their embarrassment ; Gertrude bringing her 
usual tact to bear in such a way as to make the little 
social moments, during recess, times of pleasant 
140 


A Humorous Accident. 


141 


recreation as well as improvement in other things. 

Dixie Wiggins had watched Gertrude’s every 
movement and pronunciation, until real marks of 
culture began to be noticeable; her ideal was to 
speak, and act, and dress like the teacher. Frank 
did well in every way; except that there was an 
absence of the same stimulus that stirred Josh and 
Dixie. His heart fluttered when the brown wavy 
hair came near him, but he knew there was no wide 
social gap between them. Josh tugged away with 
little satisfaction to himself or his teacher; but he 
tried faithfully to master eyery thought and sugges- 
tion that promised advancement. 

“ Next Sunday is Mr. Carson’s appointment,” 
said Gertrude to the school, just as she was about 
to dismiss them Friday afternoon.” Now I want to 
see everyone of you present; such preaching will 
do us all good. Everyone who will come at ten 
o’clock Sunday morning, raise your hand.” Where- 
upon, all the hands except those of a few sulky boys 
on the back seat, went up quickly. 

Josh was profoundly interested in the way Mr. 
Carson preached, but his coming to Skaggs Valley 
had aroused a strange fear in his heart. That even- 
ing going home, he walked by Gertrude’s side, some- 
thing he had never dared to do before. The girl’s 
kind treatment and cheerful conversation helped to 
lift the cloud caused by the expected arrival of the 
Rev. Thomas Carson, 


142 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


“ Do you know, Josh/’ she said to him, “ I can- 
not get over the impression made by Mr. Carson’s 
sermon.” 

“ Neither can I,” he answered, willing to make 
himself agreeable; yet, he spoke the truth; for he 
had been secretly troubled ever since, but did not 
understand it himself. 

“ I have been a regular attendant for years, at 
one of the finest churches in the city, having one of 
the ablest ministers, but I never heard a sermon that 
affected me like that Mr. Carson preached in the 
tobacco-barn.” For some distance neither of them 
spoke : finally she said, “ Josh, I am so glad I came 
to this country.” 

“ It seems mighty funny that ye air,” he 
remarked, “ but I’m gladder than you.” 

“ Oh I have learned so many lessons. First, I 
have learned that we can do good, and help others 
without all the modern things used by teachers in 
the cities ; second, I have learned that there are true, 
loving hearts wherever you go : ready to love, and 
be loved in return; and another thing — well — I can- 
not just say — but I am sure of it : God is not con- 
fined to the stately piles of brick and stone. I had 
an idea that, somehow, to be religious, there must 
be all that fine display, great organs and cultivated 
choirs ; that everything should be done by an orderly 
program. Sunday after Sunday, I have sat and 
tried to be interested, yet it was all so cold and 


A Humorous Accident. 


*43 


formal. The pastor of our church was paid five 
thousand dollars a year, but if he ever said one 
thing that strengthened and helped a poor, lonely 
girl, like myself, I do not remember it. I am so 
glad I came to Skaggs Valley.” 

The boy by her side, listened, trying to take in , 
what she was saying, but his silence was evidence 
that she was leading where he was unable to follow. 
In a moment her deep musings came to an abrupt 
end, by an amusing turn of affairs. 

“ Look out there,” said Josh, reaching to catch 
her but was too late. In the middle of the path 
stood a large stump which had been cut low enough 
for wagons to pass over. Gertrude was so absorbed 
in her reflections that she walked squarely against 
it, and fell sprawling on the ground. She uttered 
a half scream and half laugh, and before she realized 
just what had happened, a pair of strong arms lifted 
her to a standing position, with as much ease as if 
she had been a child. Notwithstanding a bruised 
place on her cheek, and an ankle badly sprained, 
when the truth of what had occurred fully dawned 
on her, she gave away to a convulsive fit of laugh- 
ter. An ill wind had blown, but as usual, not with- 
out good to someone; Josh had the supreme delight 
of assisting Gertrude the remainder of the journey. 

Mrs. jWiggins met them at the gate, with a tor- 
rent of ejaculations. “ Massey sakes alive, chile, 
what’n the name o’ common-sense, and creation ’ave 


1 44 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


ye bin a-doin’? Ye sartinly hain’t bin in nary run- 
away. Let me hep on this side — t’ care thar ; move 
that air cheer, Josh, and pull out the trunnel-bed, 
quick.” 

Gertrude tried to protest against such solicitations 
of kindness; not because her sprained ankle and 
bruised face gave her no pain, but because the whole 
affair was exceedingly ridiculous. 

When Mrs. Wiggins was made acquainted with 
the cause of Gertrude’s misfortune, she too, joined 
heartily in the fun. 

“ Ye kain’t hole yer head too high in this kentry, 
chile ; ye’ve got ter look where yer a-steppin’. Call 
Dixie, and tell ’er to git me a bunch of that tanzy 
in the smoke-house ; that ankel’s got to be poulticed, 
or ye’ll be laid up for a month.” 

“ Oh Mrs. Wiggins, you just must get me well 
before Sunday.” 

“ I may git that ankel fixed, but there’s no 
poultice ever made ’at would grow hide back in one 
day, ’ats bin rubbed off.” 

“ Oh, does my face look so dreadful ? ” she said. 

“ Jist fetch ’er that air lookin’ glass, Josh, and 
let her see fur hersef.” 

“ Mercy on me, I am a perfect fright. How 
could I ever been so awkward,” she exclaimed, hold- 
ing a cracked mirror before her face. 

“ I hain’t a bit glad you’re hurt, but I’m power- 


A Humorous Accident. 145 

ful glad to git a chance to wait on you,” said Josh, 
blushing. 

“ I certainly appreciate such kindness, but sorry 
it must be rendered under such circumstances,” 
replied Gertrude, not seeming to catch Josh’s mean- 
ing. 

The home-made salves and poultices began their 
work of reconstruction at once; and by noon the 
next day, the swelling had gone away from the 
sprained ankle, and the wound on her face had 
healed sufficiently to be covered by a well trimmed 
piece of court-plaster. 

“ You all are the best doctors and nurses, I ever 
saw,” she said to them, at the dinner table. “ I 
believe that spring water and auntie’s remedies from 
the woods, are better than all the hospitals and 
educated physicians in the country. Suppose I 
write about the wonderful medicinal powers of that 
spring water; then Mr. Wiggins can sell his farm 
for a hundred dollars an acre. This world will pay 
any price for whatever will restore health.” 

“ I don’t want no doctors in mine,” said Mrs. 
Wiggins, “ who knows what they’re pokin’ down 
ye; there’s more in the yerbs than in the worter, 
though I ’low as how its powerful refreshin’.” 

Somehow, Miss Moss looked forward to the mor- 
row with great eagerness; a nervous unrest pos- 
sessed her, and she could not fathom its meaning. 
From her trundle-bed in the sitting-room, she 


146 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


watched Mrs. Wiggins move about in the full 
possession of a world that was all her own ; the only 
one she had ever known or cared to know. The 
great waves of social and intellectual life, that mean 
so much to the American woman, had never dis- 
turbed her peaceful shores. Fashions and fads, 
emigration, labor and capital, problems of the cities, 
infidelity of higher scholarship, etc., had absolutely 
no meaning to her. 

Who would dare say which of the two was the 
ideal life; many choice souls were sleeping in the 
cemeteries, who had gone there permaturely, grap- 
pling to elevate the race, leaving behind as an inheri- 
tance the problems of human life unsolved and more 
complicated than ever. 

Here was a serene satisfied soul, serving her day 
and generation, with no greater troubles than the 
“ varmints pestering her fowls, and turkeys ’at 
strayed off, and didn’t come back.” 

The Sabbath dawned clear and chilly; the trees 
and crags were clothed with Jack Frost’s finest 
fabrics, and when the sun came above the row of 
eastern hills, all the Valley glowed and sparkled 
with resplendent glory. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


GOD SHALL NOT BE MOCKED. 

Silas Bartman had labored like a Trojan from 
early morning, hoping to place the last load of 'wood 
for the winter’s use on the already large pile in 
front of the house. Saturday night found the task 
not quite finished, and he seated himself by the 
cheerful fire, in an ugly temper, hoping to get con- 
solation from his one and only comforter — a pipe 
filled from the last twist of aromatic brown weed 
brought from Old Kentucky. He was sure that 
tobacco grown in the fertile valleys of Missouri, 
could not be compared with his Burley leaf, now so 
nearly exhausted. A number of things combined 
for his discomfort; several times of late Frank had 
shown a spirit of independence toward his sharp 
commands, and the father was awakening to the 
fact that in the son was a rival will, with which he 
must reckon. 

The boy had insisted on attending school reg- 
ularly; and each night found him buried in his 
books; a relish for reading was rapidly developing, 
under the guidance of his teacher. Miss Moss had 
brought a number of her favorite authors with her, 
and Frank had become enraptured with the pathos 
147 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


148 

of Little Nell; the daring heroes of Scottish Chiefs, 
and the wild scenes of Ivanhoe. 

Two forces were at work, revolutionizing the boy 
ideals, and at the same time fermenting the new 
aspirations of young manhood; two hungers had 
been awakened and each was being stimulated and 
gratified. One was the mind with its healthy, nor- 
mal clamor for truth and information ; mind aroused 
to the infinite sources lying within easy reach, in- 
viting the seeker to her rich store-houses. The 
other was the witchery of an inexorable law operat- 
ing on hearts human, without respect of persons be 
they king or peasant. That mysterious, intangible 
because , whereby the fair-complexioned, blue-eyed 
lad watches involuntarily the brunette with dark 
eyes; while she likewise feels an implse to act indif- 
ferently, but at the same time gives her head a toss, 
with a self-conscious, affected air, when he is near. 
Throughout the centuries of higher civilization, 
pride, ambition, and selfishness, on the part of 
parents and lovers, have tried to control, destroy, 
or set aside this law; but it remains in full force, 
as universal as gravitation, filling the land with 
marital infidelity, tragedies, and divorce-court 
scandals. 

“ Nancy, you don’t know it, but that boy is gitten’ 
no manner account on earth/’ said the father, 
harshly, when Frank had gone to the kitchen on an 
errand for his mother. “ I us’ to could git some- 


God Shall Not be Mocked. 149 

thin’ out of ’ini, but since yer fine-haired school 
marm come, he wants to be a reg’lar dude, sit 
around and comb his hair and look purty.” 

“ I cannot see that he is doing any more than any 
other boy, who is decent and sensible, at Frank’s 
age,” she said with a tone of protest in her voice. 
She was more than pleased to see her only son 
showing signs of self-respect, and studiousness. 
The one fear she had entertained, was that the 
inertia of all social and intellectual life about them, 
would directly affect Frank, as he had given no 
special promise before of a desire for culture in any 
direction. 

“ Anything that seems to be puttin’ on Sunday 
airs jists suits you; ” he replied with a sneer; “ if I 
knowed of a spot on the earth where I could git 
away from all such foolishness as people these days 
is tryin’ to git off on everbody, I’d try my level best 
to go there.” 

“ There are plenty of places in the world, where 
they never heard of a Savior, a church, or a school- 
house,” said Mrs. Bartman, firmly, and reached for 
her ball of yarn that had fallen from her lap, and 
was furnishing sport for the kitten. 

“ Savior ! huh — I can’t see how folks ’ats got a 
a pinch of sense, can alius be a harpin’ about a 
Savior. I like to know what ’e’s ever saved you, or 
any one else,” and the growling man arose, stood 
with his back to the fire, and faced his wife. “ All 


150 


The Vulture's Claw. 


the savin’ I see in it is ’at it saves a lot of lazy no- 
count fellers from havin’ to work and make an 
honest livin’ like the rest of us. I wish there ’us 
a law to make everyone of ’em go to work or be 
cow-hided. But I reckon, as long as there are fools 
enough left like you and Wash Wiggins, ’at ’ll give 
’em lodgin’, they’ll keep on spungin’ around.” 

“ Silas Bartman, you never gave a meal to a 
preacher in your life; I would be ashamed, to call 
people fools, because they believe there is a God, and 
choose to be kind to His ministers. I am ashamed 
and humiliated, that I cannot have Brother Carson 
in our home. His coming to this country will keep 
coals of fire on somebody’s head.” 

These words seemed to cause the man some 
uneasiness; though he had an iron nerve and soon 
controlled himself. Mrs. Bartman noticed this but 
appearently gave no heed to her discovery. 

“ I reckon no one’s afeard of any of his coals,” 
he replied with a nervous shrug of his shoulders. 
“ I’m mighty shore I ain’t. These people ’ats alius 
gitting worked up over the next world are a set of 
cowards in this.” 

“ Silas Bartman, I am amazed and pained to hear 
such a statement; you never, in your life, saw a 
single example to verify it. I cannot understand 
why or how you insist on such violations of truth 
and common-sense.” 

If these words had been spoken in any tone, 


God Shall Not be Mocked. 151 


except in Mrs. Bartman’s usual sweet way, they 
would have been severe; but they lacked none of 
the necessary firmness. The man winced under 
them; for in substance he was accused of stating a 
falsehood 

“ You’d better call me a liar,” he said, rising up 
again with much assumed wrath. 

“ What I have said, I have said, Mr. Bartman ; 
I am as conscious of the reality of my religion, and 
the Savior’s personal power to save from sin, as I 
am of my existence; you are my husband, but God 
shall not be mocked in this house, without my pro- 
test. I would not have the responsibility which you 
must meet some day, for this world.” 

“ Oh Bosh, don’t you shed no tears over me,” he 
blurted out. At this, moment Frank came into the 
room, and began preparation to retire. “ Say, 
Frank, did ye know that the fence runnin’ near the 
crick, is all rottin’ down, and Swinks’ stock will be 
a-breakin’ in the fust thing we know. We’ve got 
ter fix it to-mor’. I ain’t goin’ to put up with it 
nary other day.” 

“ Why, Pap, to-mor’ is Sunday, and it’s preachin’ 
day, besides,” the boy protested. “ The stock never 
feeds on that side of the creek and ” 

“ Preachin’ day,” roared Bartman seating him- 
self, “ jist as if that made any difference; you’ll go 
right along with me, all the same. That white 
livered rascal has got no right to interfere with 


152 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


people’s affairs, and if I ever see ’im, I’ll mighty 
quick tell ’im so.” 

“ I have no doubt you have already told him,” 
said his wife, who saw that it was time to speak, 
and she knew exactly what to say. 

“ What d’ ye mean, woman, by sich talk as 
that?” the man replied, turning, in his chair and 
looking at her. 

“ There is no explanation necessary. I simply 
mean, that you shall not keep Frank from church 
to-morrow; I have never opposed you in anything 
reasonable, in my life, but when you presume to 
dictate the faith and religious conduct of this home, 
there is another bond stronger than the one binding 
me to you. I shall make no more references, to this 
matter, which you seem to want explained, unless 
you insist on dragging your only child after you.” 

These words came like a thunder-bolt to the man 
who had been used to nothing but kindness, and 
submission from his wife. He was sure that he 
was defeated, but hardly knew how it was done. 
Silas Bartman had caught the pulse of the neigh- 
borhood, and knew that he must keep quiet and 
avoid suspicion. Mrs. Bartman had only surmised 
the truth before, now she was convinced that her 
husband knew more about the reception given Mr. 
Carson than any one had dreamed. Her stray shot 
had taken effect, and from that hour she had com- 
plete control of the situation, and no more interfer- 


God Shall Not be Mocked. 153 


ence would come from him, touching Sunday 
observance. 

Frank sat aghast at what he had just heard; he 
had followed his father on the night that Lanky 
Joe had come for him, and got on the inside of the 
secret meeting with his gang; but he had never 
thought his father capable of a deed so dishonorable 
as to arouse the public conscience of a place like 
Skaggs Valley. However, he was too wise to speak 
at such a critical moment. 

Mrs. Bartman now saw a side to Mr. Carson’s 
character, that, with all his sterling qualities, out- 
shone the rest. If what she had guessed were really 
true, the guilty one could have been found out very 
soon, as her husband and the preacher had met one 
day face to face, and of course recognized each 
other. Nothing could have saved the man from the 
wrath of those humble people, as the young minister 
had gained their high esteem. The vengeance 
would have been terrible; and Mrs. Bartman now 
saw that the preacher had kept silent, when one 
word added to his description, the neighborhood 
would have felt the explosion of an earth-quake. 
Bartman puffed away at his pipe, and his wife 
turned to the son, and in a calm voice said to him, 
“ Frank, you would better go to bed, so you can get 
up early enough to have your chores out of the way 
before church time. I hear that Brother Carson 
visited old Sister Cox to-day, in company with 


i54 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


Dixie and Miss Moss. He is surely proving a great 
blessing to this neglected Valley.” 

Without another word, Silas knocked the ashes 
from his pipe, put on his hat, and went out into 
the darkness; it was near midnight when he re- 
turned. The next morning he ate his breakfast in 
sulky silence; and without a word left the place, 
going towards Devil’s Backbone, an opposite direc- 
tion from the fence that was so badly out of repair. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


THE BIG MEETIN’. 

Rev. Thomas Carson had announced a revival; 
some understood it to mean a protracted meeting; 
others remembered the meetings held by the old 
circuit-riders in Tennessee and Kentucky; but some 
were full of curiosity, so that quite as enthusiastic 
a gathering filled the old barn, as was present a 
month before. The preacher had now recovered 
from the effects of his first encounter on Devil’s 
backbone ; and his eyes flashed with unctuous fire as 
he sang and prayed. A feeling took possession of 
the congregation, that somehow a day of reckoning 
had come. The room was athrill with a silent 
presence. Mooted questions, such as the authentic- 
ity of the Bible, the Incarnation, or the Resurrection 
were unknown and unheard-of except by a very 
few. The preacher took a practical everyday text, 
“ All things whatsoever ye would that men should 
do unto you, do ye even so unto them,” or said he, 
“ treat every man as you want every man to treat 
you.” 

For nearly an hour this, the simplest, and yet the 
most comprehensive text in the Bible was expounded 

155 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


* 5 6 

by clear everyday illustrations, and at the close, 
the hearers may not have understood a single prop- 
osition of creed or criticism, but a conviction of sin, 
and the need of a Savior were eminent in every 
heart. They were urged to return for a night 
service. 

The modern church-goers sitting under the bril- 
liant glare of incandescent lights, clustering about the 
polished chandeliers could not have appreciated the 
gloomy scene of a room packed with people, lighted 
by a few yellow sputtering kerosene lamps on im- 
provised wall-shelves. Miss Moss said it reminded 
her of a witch’s camp-fire. The one light on the 
rude stand reflected full in the preacher’s face, and 
gave double force to the message. 

“ I want us to remember that God is present in 
this house to-night; He is here, not only seeing us, 
but knowing the very thoughts in our mind.” 

Raising the open Bible he said, “ Hear what God 
is going to say to us all : 

“ Except ye repent ye shall all likewise perish.” 
“ Now we want to fully understand these startling 
truths: First, what does God mean by repentance; 
second, whom does He say must repent ; third, how 
can we repent, and, lastly, what will become of 
those who refuse to repent.” Each one of these 
thoughts was taken up, not in theological terms 
or exegetical exactness, but in a straight heart to 
heart, face to face talk, until the last; then the low 


The Big Meetin\ 


l S7 


rostrum became a throne of thunder. “We shall 
perish/’ he shouted, “ banished into outer darkness 
where there shall be weeping and wailing and 
gnashing of teeth.” 

The people sat as if riveted to their seats; they 
had been clearly shown that the one and necessary 
condition of salvation had not been met; this, the 
very heart of the gospel, the only gospel men were 
ever commissioned to preach, was made plain to 
everyone. 

“ I shall not close this service without giving you 
a chance to repent. Perhaps you have wondered 
why this two-inch plank has been placed on these 
chairs before me. Well, that is what we Methodists 
call a 'Mourner’s bench;’ it is what God calls a 
‘ Mercy seat/ or a ‘ throne of grace ; ’ and it is what 
I call the best place on earth to repent. If we really 
feel the load of sin, my friends; if our hearts are all 
broken up on account of the many times we have 
disobeyed God, and wounded Plis great loving heart, 
we are willing to go anywhere to get right with 
Him.” 

Then in a strong, clear voice he sang : 


“ Come humble sinners, in whose breast 
A thousand thoughts resolve ; 

Come, with your guilt and fear oppressed, 
And make this last resolve.” 


Before the first stanza was finished, Old Tom 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


1 58 

Diggs, the most moral and upright man in Skaggs 
Valley walked boldly to the altar and kneeled. This 
unexpected move took them by surprise. In all the 
drunkenness and blasphemy of the neighborhood, 
Old Tom was never known to indulge. Those who 
sat near the front saw tears streaming down his 
wrinkled, weather-stained face. The preacher 
stepped down and laid his hand gently on the old 
man’s head, an sang: 


“ I’ll go to Jesus, though my sins 
Hath like a mountain rose ; 

I know His courts, I’ll enter in, 
Whatever may oppose.” 


Miss Moss, who sat near Mrs. Bartman, leaned 
over and whispered in the good woman’s ear, “ O 
Mrs. Bartman, what must I do; I feel that I need 
to go there, as much as poor Mr. Diggs, or any one 
else in this house. I am sure I have never 
repented,” she almost sobbed. 

“ My precious child,” said Mrs. Bartman, placing 
her arm around the trembling girl, “ this is of God, 
and you must follow as He directs.” 

“ But what will they think of me ; I have been 
teaching them religion, and telling the children that 

I was a Christian. What if ” 

“ Never mind, Gertrude,” interrupted the moth- 
erly voice, “ God will take care of His own truth, 
and the consequences. I have tested Him.” Just 


The Big Meetin’. 


1 59 


then a flood of sweet emotions swept over her soul, 
and she was carried in spirit, once more to the bed- 
side of her dying girl, in Old Kentucky; she tasted 
again the good word of God, and the powers of the 
world to come. The witness that came then as a 
still small voice, now flooded her whole being like 
a mountain torrent; whereupon, she sprang to her 
feet and praised God in the fulness of joy. The 
singer went on uninterrupted : 

“ I can but perish if I go, 

I am resolved to try ; 

For if I stay away I know 
I must forever die.” 

The climax of the service was now reached : the 
beautiful, cultured Miss Moss bowing at the altar 
of prayer, beside Old Tom Diggs; the quiet, gentle 
Mrs. Bartman shouting and clapping her hands like 
a maniac. Josh Wiggins sat at the back of the 
room, near the door, greatly disturbed, but half 
angry because Gertrude had responded to the young 
minister’s invitation. “ She jist went ’cause ’e axed 
’er,” he muttered to himself. 

The next shock was when Old Tom rose to his 
feet, and faced the anxious spectators. This oc- 
curred just as the preacher was about to call them 
to prayer; but he quickly observed the light in the 
old man’s face, and knew that another witness was 
ready to speak. 


i6o 


The Vulture's Claw. 


“ Thank God,” said Mr. Carson, “ for the saving 
power to-night. We are going to hear Brother 
Diggs tell what has happened.” 

“ I hain’t bin t’ meetin’, since I wus a boy,” he 
began. “ As I reckelect, back yander, when a feller 
got through, they’d let ’im tell it; now that’s why I 
got up. I know ’at some of ye ’ll say Old Tom’s 
gone hog-wild, but ’e ain’t. You thought I wus a 
purty good old chap, I know ye did; none ov ye 
thought I wus haf as good as Old Tom thought ’e 
wus. You didn’t know me, and I didn’t know Old 
Tom, nither. The devil has jist nacherly got us all 
blind; I hain’t felt good since this yer man fust 
come ’ere. I ain’t crazy, no-sir-ee; I’m jist a-gitten 
to my senses. When I come in here to-night, there 
wus somethin’ in here (holding his hand over his 
heart) as hard as any flint on Devil’s Backbone; 
and whatever it wus is all melted, and is drippin’ all 
over me, and it’s sweet as honey-dew on hickory 
leaves.” 

The service closed with Gertrude still at the altar ; 
everything grew dark in her soul. Gladly would 
she have gotten away from the bitterness and re- 
morse that seemed to be weighing her down. Mrs. 
Bartman knew the crisis of such a time, and re- 
solved to help her surrender. A thousand voices 
clamored for a hearing, she saw herself humiliated 
and disgraced before the young and old, whom she 
longed to help and inspire. The present attitude 


The Big Meetin*. 161 

was contrasted with the dignified and formal serv- 
ices she had so often seen in her own church. Yet a 
sweet voice whispered in her ear : “ Just surrender 
and trust, my child. This is God’s furnace, and he 
wants you to come forth made pure, and meet for 
the Master’s use.” 

The girl eagerly wrestled with the greatest of all 
human problems; and she was passing along the 
same rugged road, that all must pass. At last, with- 
out any ray of light, or one joyous emotion, she 
grasped her friend by the hand, arose and said in a 
firm voice: “ Mrs. Bartman, I will do it; not be- 
cause I see or understand, but because He says so. 
Brother Carson quoted in his sermon, you remem- 
ber, ‘ that whosoever cometh unto me, I will in no 
wise cast out ’, I am going to believe that.” 

“ Do you also remember another,” replied the 
preacher, who came from greeting the departing 
congregation at the door. “ In the day that ye shall 
seek me with all thine heart, I will be found of 
thee.” Gertrude Moss went home that night trust- 
ing an invisible Saviour, for a conscious salvation, 
and her faith grew stronger every moment. 

The meeting grew in interest and power; not- 
withstanding the superstition of the people, faith in 
the genuineness of the work being done, spread 
from heart to heart. Dixie Wiggins was beautifully 
converted the second night, with many others; Josh 
and Frank went forward, but did not find peace, 


162 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


until the last service on Friday night. The power 
came upon Josh in an extraordinary manner; in his 
paroxysms of joy, he lifted men literally from the 
floor. The first one to fall into his hallelujah 
clutches was Old Tom, who by this time was in full 
enjoyment of the meeting, weeping, praying, and 
exhorting his comrades. 

“ I tell ye what,” he said, speaking of the bear-hug 
encounter with the young convert. “ Brother Car- 
son calls ’em babes in Christ; but if Josh Wiggins 
is a babe, I’d hate fer him to git a holt on me if ’e ’us 
full-grown. Ef that boy had a-took to prize 
fightin’, woe be to the rest of ’em. 

The subject of the last sermon was Retribution, 
“ Be sure your sins will find you out.” As the 
preacher was making his last call, the most unex- 
pected man in Skaggs Valley sought the altar of 
prayer; it was Wash Wiggins, who had before re- 
mained unmoved and impervious to every appeal. 
After kneeling he beckoned Mr. Carson to his side; 
a whispered conversation passed between them amid 
silent suspense. Mr. Wiggins had seen but little of 
the preacher, during the last visit as he had shared 
the humble hospitality of other homes in the Valley. 

The spectators were again surprised when Mr. 
Wiggins returned to his seat, while Mr. Carson gave 
a closing speech. 

“ I shall expect to organize both a church and 
Sunday-school, when I return,” he began, “ In order 


The Big Meetin’. 


163 

to reach my next appointment, I must follow the 
old Goshen road many miles beyond Twin Peaks 
by daylight. It will be a rather lonely journey; 
however we must not falter in the face of duty.” 
Just then a man who was standing outside near a 
partially opened window skulked away in the dark- 
ness. 

Mr. Wiggins was the last one to shake hands 
with the preacher, and spoke in a low but excited 
voice as he did so : “I will meet you in the shadow 
of Lover’s Leap, after everyone is gone past.” 


CHAPTER XX. 


A STARTLING STORY. 

The last wagon could be heard rattling over a 
distant rocky road; the moon had climbed high 
above her mundane obstructions, and looked with 
dignified pity on a few glimmering stars that were 
eclipsed by her pale glory. The damp fogs from the 
lowlands were being formed into hoary frost by the 
wintry air, making the fences and trees sparkle in 
their night robes. 

Two men emerged from the shadows and joined 
each other in the darker shadows of the overhanging 
rocks of Lover’s Leap. In the bushes a short dis- 
tance away, an impatient horse was champing his 
bits and snorting a protest at the mysteries of the 
night. 

“ Sorry I kept you waitin’, Brother Carson, 
knowin’ as how fur you’ve got to travel ; but I was 
a feared Josh ’ud foller me, so I had to wait till ’e 
went a’ bed.” 

“ That’s all right Brother Wiggins, I have the 
night before me, and Selim will skim me over many 
a mile to-night. They’ll be looking for me at Big 
Bend, and if nothing happens I’ll be there by three 
o’clock. I am only too glad to hear your story, 
164 


A Startling Story. 165 

and, if possible make any suggestion that will help 
you/' 

“ This is a purty gloomy place to come, and it 
ain’t no gloomier than my story. Brother Carson, 
you’re the onliest man, I’ve ever seen that I’d trust. 
Give me yer hand and promise afore God to keep 
what I’m a goin’ to tell ye.” 

The two men grasped each other’s hands in the 
dark, and the young minister said, “ Mr. Wiggins 
you do me great honor, in that you have chosen 
me above all others, to open your life-secrets. I 
surely appreciate it, and my word as a man, you 
shall never be betrayed.” 

The sound of approaching footsteps was heard; 
a man was walking rapidly toward Devil’s Back- 
bone. 

“ She-e-,” whispered Mr. Wiggins, leaning far 
around the big rock. “ It’s Lanky Joe, and ’e’s up 
to some meanness. Now, I reckon he won’t hear. 
Well sir, for nigh on to twenty-five years, my heart 
has been locked up and froze hard; and no human 
bein’ knows what I’ve suffered. Oh ye’ve seen me 
a-jokin’, and apparently a-havin’ a good time; my, 
it’s been the torment of a lost soul — my soul. You 
know ’at no man who wus anybody, or had a speck 
of good blood in ’im, wouldn’t hang up and raise 
children in a place like Skaggs Valley, don’t ye?” 

“ I must confess, Brother Wiggins, since coming 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


166 

into your family, and seeing your two children, I 
have been a bit puzzled.” 

“ Listen to me, preacher, excuse me, Brother 
Carson, I mean; but you see I’m nervous, there’s 
no finer children ever walked than mine; and that 
ain’t all, there’s no better blood than flows in their 
veins. I’ve swallered my heart hopes fur them and 
natcherly buried ’em here in these hills. They might 
as well be buried. There wus a time when I lived 
as a man orto, but when I hid away from the world, 
and everything ’at wus worth havin’ I hid away 
from God, and all these years, fearin’ part ’o the 
time of havin’ to meet ’im, and then not carin’ any- 
thing about it. 

“ I wusn’t alius old rough Wash Wiggins — and 
say, here’s a part of my secret ’at no human in this 
state nor nowhere’s else knows it : my name ain’t 
Wiggins. Your sermon broke me all up, fust thing 
’at ever did. I seed I’d be obleeged to meet God, 
anyhow ; and when He found me, there’d be no quiet 
Wash Wiggins, but it’d be jist who I am. I’m 
dependin’ on you heppin’ me, or leastwise keepin’ 
what I’m a-tellin’.” 

“ You shall have my full sympathy, and if there 
is anything within my power that will help you, it 
will be done without a word ; you will not have to 
ask me. I am profoundly stirred, as well as deeply 
interested.” 

“ If my children had what was theirn, Josh would 


A Startling Story. 


167 

be a-ridin’ Kentucky thoroughbred horses, and 
Dixie would be a-playin’ on music instruments, and 
enjoyin’ a five hundred acre farm, or plantations, 
they call ’em, as fine as ever a crow flew over. 
They’d do it, too, as well as any ov ’em. 

“ That cain’t never be ; there’s a heap I might 
say, but it’s no use; it’s all past and nothin’ can 
change it.” 

“ Let’s not forget, my Brother, that all things 
are possible with God. He can bring the traps and 
schemes of men to naught, and right every 
wrong — ” 

“ I know, I know, but when you git more of the 
story, you’ll see more than you do now. Now — 
I’ll blunder a heap, as it’s the first time these lips 
ever spoke it. No human knows but me, and God. 
My family are as innocent as new born babies. It 
was this way you see, I was driv to it, or thought 
I wus; it got to where I couldn’t stand it. ‘Cause 
I hadn’t been to school and learnt to be smart, but 
had stayed at home; all the overseein’ of business 
must be tuck out of my hands. There wus just 
two of us boys, an’ no girls. Our daddy owned 
mor’n a thousand acres, and a plantation covered 
with niggers. They never thought ’at I had any 
more sense ’an I need, and didn’t want to waste no 
money schoolin’ me ; and then it was partly my fault, 
as I was harem-scarem and didn’t care for books. 
Daddy and Mammy both died in less ’en a year 


1 68 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


apart; so the whole bisness of settlin’ and dividen’ 
wus in his hans — my brother, ye know. Well he 
jist figured and planned and figured and kep dick- 
erin’ with me, and talked with a lot of big words 
frum books ’at I didn’t know their meanin’, tel the 
fust thing I knowed, he had full persession of the 
whole capoodle, and he'd done it slick and clean.” 

“ How could he get possession of the land and 
property that had been willed to you ? ” 

“ That’s ’xactly where the trouble wus — there 
wus no will, ’at could be found; though it had bin 
made all right enough — but it never turned up. 
Then he had hisself put in by the court to somehow 
fix matters up; then I had to sign some papers ’at 
’e ’splained, had to be ’fore ’e could do anything. 
What ’ad I done but natcherly sign to him ever- 
thing ’at wus mine.” 

“ That was surely a very dishonorable act, and 
one that deserved a long term in the penitentiary. 
Could you not have sued for your rights, and ex- 
posed his villainy, Brother Wiggins, or — but you 
did not tell me your real name.” 

“ No, and it doesn’t matter; my right name 
wusn’t never used this side of the big river, and I 
don’t ’low ’at it shall be. It must never be spoken 
nor hinted — you jist call me the same name, it won’t 
be onhandy.” 

“ But why could you not have gained your rights 


A Startling Story. 169 

by law? It seems that every state has laws to pro- 
tect property rights.” 

“ You see when I found out how I’d bin eucered, 
and by my own brother, and we had nobody but 
jist us, and there wus a-plenty, and a-both bin rich; 
it made me sa all-fired mad ’at I cussed ’im black 
and blue; but all ’e did wus to laff. Now here is 
where the wust comes in. Oh — my, how can I 
ever tell you ; it’s awful — I can see it all, right here 
in the ark, ’xactly as I did then. I can see how the 
very ground looked, ’specially when it wus smeared 
with blood.” Now ye know why I’m livin’ as 
some ’un else, and hid back in the land of nowhere.” 

“ Did you take your brother’s life?” 

“ That’s what I did, and his eyes glared at me, 
when ’e couldn’t speak. Then I saw what I’d done 
when it was all over, — all over.” 

“ How did you escape without being captured? ” 

“ There wusn’t nobody about, closern a mile, 
and ’twas nigh on to sundown. All the money I 
had wus in my pocket, there wusn’t nothin’ to do 
but to skip, and I did. When the sun ris the next 
mornin’, I wus fifty miles away. Got breakfast 
frum an ole nigger womern, and laid in a dark hol- 
ler ’till dark. There ’us blood-houn’s about ten 
miles off, but maybe they didn’t find ’im next day. 
By the second mornin’ I wus goin’ down the river 
on a raft o’ logs, and I hain’t seen a soul, nor hearn 
a breath frum that country since. Now, I could tell 


170 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


ye where it all happened, but ’twould do no good. 
The thing is done and there hain’t no way to undo 
it now, as I can see. Of course I didn’t mean to 
do what I did; but my temper, ye know, got the 
best of me, and I was like a devil.” 

“ I see and understand the whole matter, and 
your case is serious, and yet no one can sin beyond 
God’s love and mercy. We have a wonderful 
Savior, my brother; and Oh! how dark and hope- 
less it would be for this poor sin-blinded sin- 
cursed world if that were not so. The very fact 
that you are anxious and convicted, is proof that 
God has not withdrawn His Spirit.” 

“ Oh, how this has loaded me down, I wake up 
at night, and the whole thing flies past me, and I 
see how he looked, and from that very hour, until 
your sermon, to-night, I felt lost, and no us’n tryin’ 
If it hadn’t been fur my childern, I’d a gone back 
years ago, and met the thing, but I couldn’t bear 
to disgrace them two that I love better’n I love 
my life. Yit when my heart wus almost broke 
wantin’ to be cheerful and love ’em like a father 
orto do, somethin’ would say — ‘ ye better go slow, 
and not try to be too happy, or that tiling’ll be 
found out on ye, then what? ’ So I jist tried to be 
cold and hard. I’ve gritted my teeth, and kind o’ 
talked back to the tormentin’ voice, sayin’ I don’t 
keer what comes uv me.” 

“ That was the same evil one who provoked you 


A Startling Story. 


l 7 l 

to the awful deed, at first. He is the arch slanderer, 
and tormentor. Brother, men may say, that there 
is no real devil, but I am as sure there is, as I am 
sure there is a God. We must learn who he is, and 
how to meet his fiery darts. Let me give you a 
promise 1 Come now let us reason together, saith the 
Lord, though your sins be as scarlet they shall be as 
white as snow; though they be red like crimson, 
they shall be as wool/ You see that takes in the 
lowest and vilest sins of society, and the hand drip- 
ping with human blood. You can never undo the 
past, it has cost you your all, mesides the price of a 
life’s happiness. God says, that we shall reap what 
we sow, and your brother came in possession of a 
terrible retribution, by sowing to the wind his deeds 
of dishonesty. Before we separate we will talk to 
One who gave Himself to redeem us from all 
iniquity, and pardon us freely from every sin.” 

The two men knelt in the gloomy cavern, and 
the preacher poured out his soul for the poor dis- 
couraged and penitent sinner. As he prayed, deep 
sobs came from the man who was now lying with 
his face on the ground. “ A broken and contrite 
heart, Oh God, Thou wilt not despise. The sacri- 
fice of God is a contrite spirit,” quoted Carson in 
the prayer. The frame of the prostrated man almost 
writhed in convulsions. “ Can you surrender the 
whole affair into His hands?” said the preacher, 
after the prayer was finished. 


172 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


“ There ain’t nothin’ else I can do, and if what 
you say is true ” 

“ Not what I say, but what He says ; one ques- 
tion more, are you willing to do what ever God may 
direct, in order to get the pearl of great price, your 
salvation? ” 

“ This is goin’ to mean the penetenshry, an’ dis- 
grace fur my famly, something tells me so. I could 
stand anything, fur as I’m concerned, but how kin 
it be right fur innocent ones to suffer.” 

“ Now brother, you are assuming the penalty 
before it comes. You are not willing to trust this 
dreadful affair in a Savior’s hands. Oh, do surren- 
der; He is exceeding abundantly able to bring it 
all out for good, if you can say yes.” 

“ Will it mean that I am to confess to all the 
world ; go back and face my trial ? ” he asked with 
great agitation. 

“ Remember, Satan will make the way look as 
dark as possible, but God will demand no confes- 
sion that does not redound to His glory.” 

“Is that so?” 

“ As true as his word.” 

“ Then so help me God, I will, and I do” 
Whereupon, the joyous emotions gave vent in weep- 
ing and praise. 

A moment of silence; From far down the val- 
ley, the piercing scream of a mountain-lion, calling 
to its mate, caused the preacher to shudder and 


A Startling Story. 


*73 


anticipate the various dangers that might await 
him on the Old Goshen road. A hearty embrace 
that meant faith in the unseen, fidelity and broth- 
erly love to each other, and the two parted. 


CHAPTER XXL 


SOME REVIVAL AFTER-CLAPS. 

The new moon’s silver crescent had dropped 
behind the ragged bosom of Thompsons Bald, 
leaving a few lesser lights glimmering in the dark 
sky, giving just enough illumination to guide a 
lonely traveler along the ups and downs of Old 
Goshen. The solemn croak of a bullfrog in the 
swamp near the creek, or the hoot of an owl answer- 
ing a mate far up in the hills was about all that 
disturbed the silent pulsations of the night. The 
sound of horses’ hoofs beating against the gravel 
and flint in rapid rhythm, almost echoed against the 
woodland barricade. The owl gave a quick glance 
backward toward the disturber and soon faded out 
of sight in the darkness. It was a lone horseman, 
borne forward with the easy swinging pace of his 
faithful steed. If you could have been near enough, 
and the light sufficient, the pale nervous face of a 
young man would have been visible, leaning a little 
forward, urging his horse onward in low tones. 

From our childhood, we have been told that there 
are no dangers at night, more than the day; but all 
the materialistic philosophy of advanced civiliza- 
174 


Some Revival After-Claps. 


l 7S 


tion can never set aside the unconscious terrors of 
darkness. The vicious beast, and still more vicious 
man will ever seek their prey under that sable shel- 
ter. Syllogisms, propositions, the law of cause and 
effect, faith in the overruling providence of God, 
may have done much toward liberating the race, 
but superstition will forever remain, stimulating 
the imagination and filling the nocturnal traveler 
with awe, if not fear. The soul of night! From 
the impenetrable depths come a thousand voiceless 
wails of warning or despair; every inanimate thing 
is transformed, dragons of gigantic size rise up to 
obstruct the way, every fence-stake and overhang- 
ing bough seem suddenly raised to smite the pil- 
grim. In every direction big things, little things, 
hideous things are shifting and sparring for posi- 
tion; there is a consciousness that eyes are peering 
from behind every bush and tree. The streaming 
meteor, the glaring fox-fire, the white log, the 
familiar stump set every nerve tingling which re- 
sults in a light step, a chilly sensation of the spine, 
and a perpendicular position of the hair. 

The horseman had swept down the mountain- 
side, and was entering the valley of shadows near 
the creek, where the limbs and dead foliage of the 
trees on each side of the narrow road met and over- 
lapped above, forming a gloomy tunnel. A rustle 
among the leaves and dried twigs was heard, and 
before the man had time to recover from a stooped 


The Vulture's Claw. 


176 

position to save his hat from being dragged off by 
a limb, the reigns of his bridle were seized and 
given a sudden jerk. Every drop of blood seemed 
to chill in the veins; before one word of protest or 
surrender could be spoken, a strong hand grasped 
him by the arm and gripped it like a vice. 

“ I guess yer’ll stop a minet,” said a deep gutteral 
voice. “ We’ve got a little bizness to git off with 
you.” While these words were striking terror to 
the young equestrian, he felt a second strong hand 
grasp his other arm. 

“ Now, ye white-livered hypocrite, we’ve got ye, 
at last.” 

“ Pull ’im off on yer side,” said the first spokes- 
man. 

“ Gentlemen,” said the captive in a trembling 
voice, “ What can this mean ; I have harmed no 
one in this country. If it’s money you want, you 
are welcome to all you can find.” 

“ If we wus huntin’ money, we’d hunt bigger 
game than sich as you.” Then he was jerked to 
the ground. To offer resistance would be folly; 
whatever the two ruffians meant to do there was 
surely nothing to hinder them. 

“ NoAr ye holy humbug, ye may know who we 
air, and we ain’t a carin’ a flip if ye do. Ye’ve been 
a runnin’ on a purty high horse, and actin’ as if ye 
wus boss of all creation, but we’re a-goin’ to show 
ye a thing or two.” 


l 77 


Some Revival After-Claps. 

“ By this time he felt his hands drawn tightly 
together, and a heavy cord pressing into the flesh. 

“ Please, gentlemen, let me say a word. I ” 

“ There now, that’ll stop yer chin music, I guess.” 
The other man who had taken charge of his horse, 
now lifted him to a sitting position; then with a 
hand placed on each side of his head, pressed the 
thumbs violently into both cheeks, prying the jaws 
apart. Then a large stick was put in his mouth 
and tied from both ends behind. 

“ I guess when Vs bucked and gagged, his 
tongue’ll stop waggin\ May be he wanted ter 
preach us a sermon, ha-ha-ha. Wonder how them 
tobaccer-barn folks would like to see their parson 
now? ” 

“ Now, look-a-here,” said one, when their diabol- 
ical work had been done; their victim’s hands tied 
behind his back and his mouth stretched so that 
speech was impossible, “ we ain’t a-goin’ to kill ye 
to-night, but simply give ye a small slice of friendly 
warnin’. Ye’ve got no bisness lurkin’ ’round here, 
blowin’ off yer bazzoo; gettin’ sap-headed men and 
some crazy wimen to git on their knees, and snub 
around. This part of the woods got along mighty 
well afore you come; and there’s a few of us ’ats 
got our fill. Ye made out like ye wus a playin’ a 
fine game ; ye knowed mighty well who pounded ye, 
on Devil’s Backbone; why didn’t ye tell? Oh, I 
know how ye was lettin’ on like ye wus too goody 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


i 7 8 

goody to blab; but it uz cause ye knowed yer hide 
’ud not hold shucks if ye did. 

“ Ye knowed another, too; it’s a mighty fine 
job, runnin’ ’round visitin’ wimmen ’at their homes, 
when the man o’ the house ain’t about, pretendin’ 
to pray with them. . Oh, ye needn’t twist and 
squirm, we’re on to you; and let me promise ye 
somethin’ else; if ye ever come pokin’ around ’ere 
agin, this yer little bizness that yer enjoyin’ to- 
night, ’ill be a straberry-patch ’long side it. 
Fetch the ’orse, Tate; I reckon ’e’s ketched on to 
what we’re a meanin’.” 

“ Let me say my little speech, Bart, ’fore we 
shove off.” 

“Drive ahead, it’s yer put in.” 

“ It’s jist this; I’ve got one more to square with, 
then I’m willin’ to leave Skaggs, and they kin have 
all the glory halleluyar they want. Say, when I 
get my clutches on that shoutin’ smart Alec, that’s 
sprucin’ ’round the school-marm, e’ll shout louder 
’an ’e did when ye wus a gitten ’im converted. I’m 
a goin’ to fix ’im and kiss that yaller haired girl of 
his’n; I’ll be sober next time.” 

They placed the unfortunate man on his horse 
with his legs tied together by a rope under the 
animal. One of the men took hold of the bit and 
led the horse to the middle of the road, and the 
other one struck it a furious blow; horse and rider 
plunged forward into the depth of the Valley’s 


Some Revival After-Claps. 179 


darkness. The satisfied chuckle of the two men, 
fell last on the ears of the suffering minister as he 
struggled to balance himself in the saddle while his 
horse galloped madly down the narrow, rocky road. 
******** 

The Sunday following the revival, was unusual 
in many respects; one man on a crippled mule 
hobbled up from the Bend, to revive his spirit at 
Jed Simmons’ still-house. The readers must not 
think that the results were so wide-spread as to re- 
form all the drinkers of the Valley; but a kind of 
reaction had caused a halt in the ordinary Sunday 
programme. Jed swore that it was the dullest day 
he had ever seen since he “ opened up.” He had 
not attended a single service, therefore was un- 
able to appreciate such an unexpected change. If 
the enemies of Rev. Thomas Carson had called on 
Jed, near the close of his dull day, they could have 
found another one eager to join their ranks, and to 
vent his spleen against the reformer. 

On Friday morning following, Old Tom Diggs 
called at the Bartman home, and was greeted by 
Mrs. Bartman with her usual vigorous hand-shake. 

“ Good-morning, Brother Diggs,” she said, 
placing a chair for him near the fire; “I am glad 
to see the shine of joy on your face.” 

“ It’s still down ’yer too,” he replied, placing his 
hand over his heart, “ and that’s jist the reason 
I’m over here this mornin’.” 


' i8o 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


“ You did not think I doubted the genuineness of 
your conversion, Brother Diggs, did you?” 

“ Oh no, not that, but you see, ’twon’t be long 
afore I’ll be passin’ in my checks ; and the idee come 
to me as how mighty near nothin’ I’d done, fur 
mysef or any ’un else. There’s somethin’ tellin’ 
me, I orto do a little — somehow — well — it’ll be a 
poor do; but I thought per’aps ye could tell me 
how.” 

“ I see, there is a Voice calling you from the 
market place to work in the vineyard.” 

“ That’s what I mean.” 

“ Well, Brother Diggs, tell me what you have in 
mind, maybe it’s better than anything I can sug- 
gest.” 

“ I was a-thinkin’, ’at maybe, we could hold some 
sort o’ meetin’, over there on Sundays. I’m mighty 
shore, ’at you or the school-mar — , Miss Moss, 
could tell us a lot ’at ud do us good.” 

Mrs. Bartman had fully resolved to call the people 
together on the next Sunday, for testimony and 
instruction, but she allowed the old man to feel 
that he had made the suggestion. It was her pur- 
pose to visit the school that day, and announce her 
proposed service. 

“ Your idea is a splendid one; it will be a great 
mistake if we depend on Brother Carson to do all 
our work. I am very glad, indeed, that you feel so 
deeply the obligation on us to keep the good work 
going.” 


Some Revival After-Claps. 


1 8 1 


“ Then there’s anuther thing, Mis’ Bartman ; you 
see I’m alius havin’ noshuns — great many think ’at 
their crazy noshuns, but long as it’s fur somebody’s 
good, no ’un orto take eny ’ceptions to ’em. Some- 
thin’ tells me ’at these old forsaken hills is a goin’ 
to sen’ out a preacher, and it’ll be the kind ’at God 
calls and not some church or college.” 

“ I am praying for that myself, Brother Diggs, 
and you know the promise is where two or three 
agree, as touching a thing. It is just like Him to 
raise up, from the ranks of the weak, one that will 
confound the mighty.” 

“ I’ve got the strange feelin’ and I don’t mind a 
tellin’ you; and that is, the call won’t strike fur 
from ’ere.” 

“ The best way for us to help make it possible for 
Him to do as we desire is to go forward as if all 
depended on our efforts. If we stay in His will 
we have nothing to fear from ” 

“ Have ye hearn the latest ? ” he interrupted, a 
new thought coming into his mind. 

“ Why no, what is it? ” looking interested. 

“ They say ’at Wash Wiggins is goin’ about ac- 
tin’ like a different man. He didn’t ’pear to git 
anywheres that night; though them that know ’im, 
says the silent, sulky-like ways he’s quit.” 

“ That surely is good news ; he will be a great 
help to us. I will go right away and see him.” 

“ I’m powerful obleeged to ye, Mis’ Bartman ; 
it’ll be better fur you to see ’im than me.” 


182 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


Mrs. Bartman found Mr. Wiggins ready and 
anxious to co-operate with her plans. The medium 
of information, radiating from the tobacco-barn, 
did the work as quickly and thoroughly as the 
evening papers of a city. Old Tom lost no opppor- 
tunity to enlarge and emphasize the announcement. 
The congregation met their fullest anticipations; 
curiosity, perhaps, aided materially, but they came. 

The problem of church attendance was solved in 
advance of the church; the soil was virgin, the 
people without preconceived notions, and with but 
little prejudice. 

Several songs were learned during the meeting, 
and these were sung with much fervor. Dixie’s 
sweet, clear voice had been a feature in Skaggs 
Valley before the new era; now, a new richness was 
added, and more than one rough man from the 
Bend, sat entranced under the spell of unctuous 
melody. 

“We have no thought, my friends/’ said Mrs. 
Bartman, “ to go ahead of Brother Carson’s plans 
of organization; we have assembled to refresh each 
other, in Christian love. I am sure everyone will 
enjoy what used to be called ‘ experience meeting.’ 
One of the duties of Christian life is to testify. 
Now Brother Diggs will first tell us what has been 
done in his case.” 

In a simple, unaffected manner, yet beaming with 
sincerity, the old man talked out of his heart experi- 


Some Revival After-Claps. 183 


ence. Standing before them without a tremor, he 
gave a brief history of a misspent life, with all its 
accompanying darkness and error; but a transfor- 
mation had come, so real and so satisfying. 

“ Now, my bretherin’ and sistern, they’s one 
more thing I’m going to say ’n’ set down: It’s 
bin mor’n forty years, but I hain’t never fergot, but 
there’s one in this ’ere big world, ’at I treated 
migthy bad, way back yander, I left ’er a cryin’, 
and I never knowed how mean I wus till I got to 
axin God to help me, and I jist natcherly saw them 
tears, and some ’un showed ’em to me. I’m ole 
an’ poor, but every cent ol’ Tom’s got, he’s goin’ try 
to retch back there and dry them tears. If it’s too 
late, and it’s mor’n likely, God knows I’m willin’ 
to, and He’s so good, He’ll cover it all over with 
His blood. 

“ That’s what the preacher said, and frum the aw- 
ful sweetness I feel, He’s undoubtedly done it.” 

“ He will surely help you, Brother Diggs, to do 
what ever is for His glory ; and will take the will for 
the deed if the opportunity has passed,” added Mrs. 
Bartman. Then each one of the young converts, 
including Frank and Dixie were asked, and the 
bashful boy’s words astonished the entire congre- 
gation, and none more than his mother. Mr. Wig- 
gins was the last to speak, and his few well chosen, 
though ungrammatical sentences, showed that some- 
thing genuine had transpired, and in a quiet, de- 


f 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


184 

termined tone, he told them he had wasted so many 
years, and shut God out so long, that it would take 
a long time to ‘ square up,’ as he expressed it. 

* ijc ijl * l{C * * * 

A month had passed; the preacher did not re- 
turn for his regular appointment, and no explana- 
tion was received*! The early spring was beginning 
to send her new sap-life to forest finger-tips, swell- 
ing the buds, and radiating delicate perfume from 
the redbud and dogwood. Johnny- jump-ups and 
dandelions were giving touches of decoration to the 
roadside and mossy banks. The sound of the wood- 
man’s ax, and the blue smoke from the “ new 
grounds,” told that spring work had begun. There 
had been a decided change in the social life of 
Skaggs Valley; the dances had been few and poorly 
attended. Faint glimpses of better things acted as 
a leaven. 

Miss Moss had closed her school a week before, 
and had left for her home in the far away city. 
The going away of the young woman had cast a 
gloom over the humble homes of her patrons. It 
was a sad hour at Mr. Wiggins’ the morning of 
her departure. Even Mrs. Wiggins showed signs 
of real grief; Josh was more doubtful than ever of 
his standing, though she had endeavored to show 
him special attention; but the revival had somehow 
widened the cleavage between them in the mind of 
the sensitive boy. He did not appear at the break- 


Some Revival After-Claps. 185 

fast-table, nor did he return in time to participate 
in the good-byes. 

When the hack stopped at the gate, Gertrude 
threw her arms around Mr. Wiggins’ neck and a 
great tear stole down his cheek. 

“ It’ll seem like a funeral, chile, when you’re 
gone,” he said to her. “ You’ve been like a angel 
to us all. I don’t ’low you’ll ever come back, but 
this house and a lot more of em won’t never be like 
they wus afore you come.” 

“ Now you just see if I don’t come back next 
fall,” she answered in a cheery voice. The girl 
tried to be brave, but something was tugging at her 
heart, and she longed to get away before taking 
“ her cry.” “ This dear girl is going to visit me 
some time,” she said, pressing a kiss on the lips of 
Dixie, who could say nothing for weeping. “ Tell 
Josh, I’ll give him a good scolding for treating me 
so badly.” 

The hack driver cracked his whip, and the wheels 
bumped away over roots and stones. The three 
stood in the yard watching the place where the Old 
Goshen came in view near Lover’s Leap; and a 
little white handkerchief fluttered from the window 
of the hack until the first rise of Devil’s Backbone 
shut out the view. 

In another home quite a different scene was be- 
ing enacted. The Sunday meetings had been con- 
tinued, and at every coming together, Frank Bart- 


1 86 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


man exhibited more and more his gifts and graces. 
Every prophet of the neighborhood had unhesitat- 
ingly committed himself on the future of the young 
man. Not one word had passed between him and 
his mother on the subject, until the night before 
Miss Moss left. She had been there to tell them 
good-bye, and something she said to Frank 
when leaving, opened the way for the boy’s con- 
fession to his mother afterwards. Unfortunately, 
this conversation was overheard by Silas Bartman, 
and when morning came his smoldering wrath gave 
vent to an explosion of threat and abuse. 

“ You all thought you ’us a playin’ things mighty 
smart,” he said at the breakfast-table, “ but I’m on 
to the whole bizness : and what’s more I’m goin’ to 
nip sich nonsense in the bud.” 

“ What are you calling nonsense, Pap,” replied 
Frank, “ I was never any more anxious to do right 
in my life.” 

“ Is it right fur a chap your size, not to pretend 
to mind, as you’ve been doin’ here lately? ” 

“ I never disobeyed you in my life, till last Sun- 
day, and you had no right to ask me ” 

“ Right,” roared the father, glaring more like an 
animal than a man, across the table at his only child. 
“ Purty out, if I ain’t got a right to manage my own 
children.” 

“ Silas, you made an unreasonable demand on 
Frank for no other reason than to keep him from 


Some Revival After-Claps. 187 

church. You can blame me for his disobedience. 
Frank Bartman shall never remain away from 
church, if he wants to go; and he shall have the 
privilege of entering the ministry, if he is sure of 
his divine call.” 

“ We’ll see about it, I’d rather see ’im dead, 
to-day of all men on this earth ’at I hate, there’s 
none I hate worse than preachers/’ 

“ I should rather see him dead than to disobey 
a call from God to the glorious work of the minis- 
try.” 

“ Pap, I am so sure that it’s right, that ” 

“ Shut up ; you shan’t talk back to me, and if you 
give me one word I’ll wear you out.” 

“ You can do it if you want to, but I’m 
goin’ ” 

Silas Bartman, furious with rage, jumped from 
the table, seized the boy by the collar and jerked 
him to the floor, kicking him twice when he fell. 
Mrs. Bartman rushed between them, her eyes flash- 
ing with courage that caused the man to stare at 
her in wonder. 

“If you touch that boy another time, I will raise 
an alarm in this neighborhood that will make your 
life pay the penalty. I mean it. Silas Bartman.” 

Without another word, the enraged man left the 
house, and Mrs. Bartman put her arms around 
Frank, who was crying in the corner of the room. 

“ Mother, I can’t stay here no longer, I’m going 


1 88 


The Vulture's Claw. 


away. You see there will be no peace. If T m away 
he’ll have no reason to raise any more rows. If 
I can get a job of work somewhere, may be I can 
go to that school Brother Carson told me about.” 

“ It does seem that Satan has taken full posses- 
sion of your father. He is ten times worse than 
he ever was.” 

“ Miss Moss is going back to the city and if I 
can run across and see her so I can find where she 
lives, may be she can help me.” 

“ I don’t see how I can bear to live here and you 
gone. But one thing sure, there is no chance here. 
It may be for the best, we will see how your father 
acts from now on.” 

“ I hain’t told you mother, but it’s been in my 
mind for two weeks to leave here.” 

“ If you want to, hurry across the field before 
Gertrude leaves. The hack is due at eight, and 
you won’t have any time to spare. 

The little white handkerchief that had waved the 
signals of love to friends from Lover’s Leap, was 
now held to the weeping eyes of its owner. The 
salutation of a boy by the roadside brought the 
vehicle to a standstill. The glad cry from within, 
evinced the welcome surprise. 

The driver was fidgety and impatient; the inter- 
view was brief but satisfactory, and as the hack 
disappeared around the bosom of Thompson’s Bald, 
a look of determination came into the boy’s eyes. 


Some Revival After-Claps. 189 


“ That settles it,” and he strolled leisurely down 
the Old Goshen road toward Mr. Wiggins’s. “ I’ll 
see Josh, may be ’e’ll go too,” he said to himself in 
an audible voice. 

“ Hello Frank, what’s up; we’re ye bin, so 
early ? ” u 

Nothing can equal the enthusiastic planning of 
boys; especially when they are dealing in futures. 
Notwithstanding entreaties, protests and threats a 
fortnight later, Frank and Josh dragged themselves 
tired and footsore into Springfield. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


THREE LETTERS. 

“ Oh thank you ; I was not expecting so much 
mail. You are very kind to bring me three letters/' 
said Gertrude Moss, as the postman placed them in 
her hand. “ Surely there is some news in so many 
good chances. This one is from Mrs. Bartman, 
and I will just lay it aside until I examine the 
others/’ speaking softly to herself. 

The first letter was from the Board of Education, 
stating that she had been elected to a place in the 
city schools. With the room, and grade given, the 
girl almost clapped her hands, as she had about 
given up in despair. This settled the question: she 
would not return to Skaggs Valley. While this 
sudden news filled her with joy, there was a sad 
protest so deep down in her heart that its plaintive 
voice could not be fully understood. 

“ How my heart goes out to those dear ones/’ 
she thought. “ No fortune could have come to me, 
equal to those wonderful months in the hills, be- 
yond Twin Peaks and Lover’s Leap. The unwrit- 
ten romance of that Valley is full of charm. Poor 
Dixie, she will be so disappointed. Why must such 
choice souls be buried away in the oblivion of such 
190 


Three Letters. 


191 

an environment. I may never know the secret of that 
family history, but I am sure there is one. So 
often I have seen a real look of pathos come into 
the father’s face.” 

“ I wonder what this can be,” noting a strange 
handwriting, with a city postmark. She read it 
hurriedly. 

“ Dear Miss Moss : — 

“ You are a stranger to me, but I am a 
nurse at the Mayfield Infirmary. There is a young 
man here who is anxious to see you. He has suf- 
fered a severe injury, in some way, and cannot last 
long. Before he became so low, he made inquiries 
for you, and I found your name and address among 
a list of teachers, or applicants, in yesterday’s 
paper. The young man ip a minister, and his name 
is Carson. He was brought here about ten days 
ago. He may not recognize you, but come and see 
him, anyway. 

“ Sincerely your’s, 

B— — ” 

“ What can this mean ? I remember, now, that 
he did not come to his last appointment in the Val- 
ley, and no word came either. I will go right away. 
I believe I will take time to read Mrs. Bartman’s 
letter; there may be some explanation.” 

The unopened letter had fallen to the floor; 
arousing from her reverie she snatched it in her 
eagerness. It contained some unexpected bits of 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


iy2 

news, with but little to unravel the sad invitation 
from Mayfield Infirmary. 

“ My Dearest Gertrude : — 

“ Your short letter was a welcome visitor, 
and knowing the many demands on you, among 
your friends, I possessed my soul in patience. You 
will be surprised at many things that have happened 
since you left. First, Brother Carson has never 
returned to us; I received a letter from Big Bend, 
so poorly written, I could not make out the writer’s 
name, and but little of the contents. There was 
something about * bein’ awful bad hurt ’ ; but that 
was all. Josh and Frank left several days ago, and 
no word has come from either. We tried to hold 
our meeting last Sunday, but many have gone back 
to the old life of Sabbath desecration. Brother 
Wiggins and Dixie could not attend, because Mrs. 
Wiggins is seriously ill. I do not think she can get 
well. I am visiting her daily; she will not be held 
responsible for much, you know ; but I want to help 
her assume that little. As soon as you hear about 
your work for next year, let me know. I am hoping 
that matters may yet be adjusted about your school 
here; you know I told you of some changes that 
would interfere. It would be such a joy to look for- 
ward to your coming to us again. 

“ Yours in much love, 

Nancy Bartman.” 

“ I almost wish I hadn’t got the place here in the 


Three Letters. 


J 93 


city,” she mused. “ It looks like a sad fate has 
overtaken them. How lonely it must be without 
Josh, or Frank. Frank was a real companion to 
his mother, I know how she will miss him. I 
remember he asked me a great number of questions 
on the road, the morning I left. They may come to 
the city. My, but if Josh could rub up against the 
world, he would be splendid. Poor Skaggs Valley, 
her scenery cannot be excelled, but it is the souls 
of people that make the place after all. It would 
not seem like the same place without — Oh, my, 
I’m about to forget my call.” 

Giving her toilet a few hasty touches, she caught 
a street car, and after a ride of half an hour, arrived 
at the Infirmary. The large four-story building 
was surrounded by a beautiful park; many of the 
convalescent patients were enjoying the cool shades 
outside. Gertrude asked for the nurse who had 
written her, but she was off duty, and there was 
nothing left but to see the sick man. The function- 
ary who presided over the department where Mr. 
Carson was, refused to let her in. “ The doctor 
said to let nobody in,” and that was the end of the 
controversy. At last she sought the head nurse* 
and explained the reason of her visit. 

“You may go in for a moment, but please do 
not talk. Should he recognize you, it may bring on 
convulsions, and he would not last through another, 
I fear.” 


i94 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


“ Tell me,” said Gertrude, “ what you know of 
the history of his case. I know the young man ; he 
is one of the finest characters I ever met.” 

“ We only have a vague rumor. It seems that 
his father lives in Kentucky and he had gone as a 
missionary to the Ozarks. He has been unable to 
talk since coming here. The trainmen said he had 
been beaten by a band of Bald-Knobbers. What 
ever it was, the cowardly purpose has been accom- 
plished.” 

“ He must have been able to talk, from what the 
nurse wrote me,” remarked Miss Moss. 

“ There was one night he did talk to his nurse, 
but nothing very definite was learned. .You may 
go in now.” 

There was no longer any doubt: the pale ema- 
ciated form of the young minister who had brought 
such glorious truth and light to her heart, lay before 
her. He was scarcely a shadow of what she had 
seen the closing night of the revival. The chin had 
dropped slightly, and the eyes half open, had a 
glassy look. The deep obstructed breathing, sounded 
like a half groan. The torn flesh on each cheek 
was beginning to heal. In all, it was a ghastly 
sight. 

“ Oh, if he were but able to tell me all about it,” 
she thought. “ There are signs of foul play here.” 

The girl was alone in the room ; her first thought 
was to endeavor to arouse him, but going to the 


Three Letters. 


l 9S 


bed-side, she knelt and took the same hand that had 
congratulated her, by a hearty grasp, the moment 
joy and peace had come into her soul. The sick 
man stirred, and for a moment the fluttering life 
that was beating its prison bars for freedom, re- 
turned. He recognized her. A very feeble smile 
told the whole story; the cause he had defended so 
grandly, remained with him, and even in the throes 
of death, he was conqueror. 

In a moment, the power of disease was master; 
the chin assumed its former position, and the eyes 
partly open gave the signs of unconsciousness. 
Gertrude rose from her knees, and stole out of the 
room. 

“ Can it be possible/’ she said to the nurse, “ that 
a man like Mr. Carson is dying in this city with no 
one near to be interested ? ” 

“ No less than a dozen ministers have called 
almost daily, but, I understand he has only a father 
living, who is too feeble to come so far. His body 
will be sent to his old Kentucky home. The crisis 
is on, a few hours will decide.” 

“ I shall call up at noon ; and please see that some 
one answers who knows. A friend of mine called up 
at one of our hospitals to inquire about a man who 
had been in a railroad wreck, and was told, 4 Doing 
nicely, thank you ’. Later news stated that he had 
been dead twelve hours. I am deeply concerned in 
this case. If Mr. Carson dies it will be one of the 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


196 

most untimely deaths I ever knew. I will say more : 
it is certainly a strange Providence.” 

“ I shall instruct the girl at the phone to inquire 
before she replies.” 

“ Thank you.” 

As Gertrude returned, she ordered some flowers 
for Mr. Carson; but he remained unconscious 
throughout the day, and was not permitted to enjoy 
their beauty. Just as the sun set her first tiny ray 
through the window-lattice, on the following morn- 
ing another martyr’s crown was won. The fight 
had not been long, but it had been a “good fight;” 
waged against the same enemy, that, beginning with 
the Prince of Peace, lighted the blind, stumbling 
march of civilization with the bloody torch of mar- 
tyred fidelity. It is the same arch enemy, with the 
same spirit, and motive, shifting his base of opera- 
tion. Religion and righteousness have but one 
real enemy ; there is but one anti-christ ; whether the 
manifestation be the heathen fanatic, slaughtering 
in the name of ancestral worship, or household 
gods; the fanaticism of American ignorance; or 
ecclesiastical intolerance and priestly hate. 

Gertrude placed a beautiful floral design on the 
casket in the form of a crown, with a motto around 
the band made of blue plush, “ Faithful unto 
Death.” 

As the sun was sinking in the west, the big pine 
box started for its resting-place, far away under 
the blue grass of Old Kentucky. 


Three Letters. 


197 


The girl stood leaning against the tall iron fence, 
which separated the Union Station lobby from 
track terminals, watching the last coach of the L. & 
N. train disappear from under the great shed, and 
gave way to pessismistic reflections. 

“ I can never again believe that we are immortal 
until our work is done,” she mused. “ The death 
of this noble evangel of truth, upsets all my beauti- 
ful philosophy. I cannot, I must not doubt ; but the 
mystery is too great for me. ‘ Abysus abysum 
vocat! I will wait” 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


THREE LETTERS — AGAIN. 

The old graveyard of Skaggs Valley was in 
perfect keeping with its environment. The rail 
fence surrounding it, was half rotten, and scarcely 
visible through the tall weeds and briers. A few 
rough-hewn sandstones marked their respective 
mounds, located without plan or order. There 
were scores of unmarked graves; the wooden slabs 
placed there in the beginning, had long since rotted 
away. It was no uncommon thing for the diggers 
to find unmistakable evidence that another before 
had been buried there; no one knew who or when. 

Mrs. Bartman had just placed a beautiful wreath 
of flowers, culled from her garden, on the mound 
of fresh clay. The hill-side was covered with people 
and teams, that were moving off in different direc- 
tions. 

“ Poor Mammy,” sobbed Dixie, who had clung 
to Mrs. Bartman, during all the time the grave was 
being filled. “ Poor Mammy, we will be so lone- 
some now.” 

The kind woman drew the girl to her and pressed 
her face against the cheek that was wet with tears. 

198 


Three Letters — Again. 199 

“ My child, just be brave; you know I will be a 
mother to you.” 

“ What would ever have become of us if you all 
had never come here.” 

“ I am more and more convinced that God was 
in all. Let us be true to Him, and our disappoint- 
ments and our sorrows will be sanctified for good. 
Come, Dixie, let us go over the creek to the post- 
office. I feel like we shall hear some news. Yester- 
day was mail day, and I am looking for a letter 
from Gertrude, and may be from the boys.” 

“ Josh does not even know that Mammy was sick. 
I’ll tell Pappy where I’m goin’, and he won’t be 
waitin’ for me,” said Dixie, going to where her 
father was preparing to start for home. 

“ Silas, you can ride home with Mr. Wiggins,” 
said Mrs. Bartman to her husband, “ Dixie and I 
will take Old Nell and go by the post-office.” 

“ You see how its gittin’ late, and ’tain’t ’tall 
likely there’ll be any letters,” he said replying in 
a tone very unusual for Silas Bartman. 

The little cabin in which “ U. S.” operated, stood 
at the top of a long rocky hill, and Old Nell tugged 
slowly, but faithfully, until the level spot was 
reached in front of the rickety paling gate. 

“ That was pretty hard on you Nell,” said Mrs. 
Bartman patting her on the neck that was wet with 
sweat, “ if there should be nothing to reward us for 
the trip. Oh, if we only hear from the boys. There 


200 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


are so many dangers for inexperienced boys in the 
world.” 

“ Lawsey massy, here’s Miss Bartman,” said 
Peggy Hart, the mistress of Skaggs Valley custom 
house, looking from behind the rude stack of mail 
boxes. “ I jist thought onct I’d send ye word as 
how they’d been letters layin’ here fur two days. 
Then course I knowed ’bout the buryin’.” 

“ Why Mrs. Hart, have you some mail for me? ” 

“ Well I reckon so; you see if they’d a been pos- 
tals, one could a seen ’at there ’us no bad news, nor 
nothin’ ; but they wus letters, and three uv ’em, and 
Jake fetched ’em all at the same time. There’s one 
’ats writ to Dixie, but I ’low ’at they wanted you to 
read it, so just sent it to both. I wus powerful 
sorry to hear of your ma a-dyin’. I’m tole she 
she wus jist like she wus asleep. Ye know the 
preacher said ’at all on us would go some time. 
Here’s yer letters all three ov ’em. I’ve heerd ’at 
we won’t have no more preachin’ at the barn. A 
man rid by here one day, and he wus axin’ about 
one thing ’anuther, and he says, says ’e : Air they 
lookin’ fur the preacher back here again ? and I says, 
says I, Why course, everyone jest natcherly takes 
on over ’im; an’ he says, I bet a plug ’o store ter- 
backer that ’e won’t. That’s powerful quare, says 
I, an’ he jest sorter grinned, the more I talked. 
Hope yer letters ’as good news in ’em. I told the 
ole man this very mornin’ when the ole dominecker 


Three Letters — Again. 


201 


come an crowed at the door, with ’is tail pintin’ 
t’ wards the direckshun of the Ole Goshen, ’at there 
wus sumpin’ in them letters, I was powerful afeard, 
— No they ain’t no mail fur ye, Mr. Brown.” 

While this monologue went on, Mrs. Bartman 
and Dixie nodded their assent to her notions and 
queries, but lost no time in finding out the contents 
of the three welcome letters. 

“ What did I tell you, Dixie; just the letters we 
wanted. This one is from Gertrude, and this one 
from Frank; yours is a strange handwriting; open 
it first, see ! It’s from a railroad company, or some 
one employed by them.” 

“ Read it quick,” said Dixie, “ letters always look 
scarey to me; I’m awful nervous.” 

The printed letter head was the engineering 
department of the Missouri Pacific R. R. and was 
written at Hollow Rock, Colo, and so ran: 

“ Miss Dixie Wiggins. 

Skaggsville, Mo. 

“ Dear Madam : 

“ Your brother, Mr. Josh Wiggins asked me 
to write you as to his whereabouts. He is em- 
ployed in my corps of civil engineers, as chain man, 
and I am glad to tell he is giving splendid sat- 
isfaction. We are surveying through southern 
Colorado and New Mexico. Josh came to us at 
Springfield, Mo. just as we were leaving on this 


202 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


trip. I shall let you hear from time to time, as we 
cannot tell you now where we shall be. 

“ Truly yours, 

A. G. Spencer, 
Division Engineer.” 

“ Em gittin on purty well, Josh,” was scrib- 

bled at the bottom, in his own writing. 

“ That is just splendid,” said Mrs. Bartman, and 
she put her arms around Dixie and kissed her on 
the cheek. 

“ But what does it all mean ? ” said she, with an 
uncertain tone in her voice. 

“ Oh, it’s all right ; Josh is going to be a fine man, 
and make lots of money,” replied Mrs. Bartman; 
“ but I must read my boy’s letter.” 

“ My Dear Mother : — I take my pen to drop 
you a few lines to let you know how I’m gitten 
along. I have had an awful hard time since I left. 
The reason I didn’t write was, I didn’t want you 
to hear how I was. I would a made you feel 
bad. Everything is all right now. One day after 
Josh got his job I slep’ in a hay stack and had noth- 
in’ to eat all day. The man found me and give me 
something to eat and is awful good to me. They is 
only two of them, and I’m goin’ to work here all 
summer, and he knows the man who runs the school, 
where they learn to preach, and he’s goin’ to help 
me go there. He has prayer every mornin’ before 
we eat, and his wife is awful good to me. Tell 


203 


Three Letters — Again. 

Brother Carson all about me when he comes. We 
are gettin’ our work done up, and next week we are 
going to a big camp meeting, over on the river. 
They say it’s fine. Tell Dixie howdy, for me. 

“ Your only boy, 

“ Frank Bartman.” 

“ P. S. I don’t know where Josh is, F.” 

“ Just like a boy,” said the mother through her 
tears, “ he has not told me where to write, but I see 
the post office is ‘ Marshfield, Mo.’ on the envelope. 
Poor boy; I am glad I did not know of his hard- 
ships.” 

“ When you answer his letter, I want to say more 
than howdy, in it,” said Dixie looking a little dis- 
appointed. “ Won’t it be fine if he goes to college, 
and learns to be smart like Brother Carson? ” 

“ Now Miss Bartman,” said Peggy, “ I never was 
no hand to nose in other folk’s nittin’, but yer hain’t 
had no bad news, I take it, though you looks most 
ready to cry. Some, ye know, looks same when 
their glad or sad. It’s my natcher to be tender 
like, and feel bad for folks ’at’s in trouble.” 

“ No thank you Mrs. Hart, there is no bad news 
so far,” said Mrs. Bartman. 

“It’s purty good news I’d rather say,” interrupted 
Dixie. 

“ I ’low you’ve hearn from the boys. It’s awful 
bad to have childern off from home. Course we 


204 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


never had none of our own, but I jist know as how 
it’d make me feel bad.” 

“Hurry and read Gertrude’s letter; it’s almost 
sun-down, and we’d better go, hadn’t we,” whis- 
pered Dixie; hoping to avoid hearing the maternal 
philosophy of a woman who had never been a 
mother. 

Gertrude’s letter opened with love greetings to 
all, and kind expressions touching the illness of 
Mrs. Wiggins. The beautiful words brought a flood 
of tears to Dixie’s eyes, but when she began to tell 
of her election to a place among the teachers for the 
city school, Mrs. Bartman was compelled to cease 
reading to comfort the girl. 

“ Let’s go away from here quick,” said Dixie, “ I 
don’t want Peggy Hart to ask any more questions. 
You can finish when we get down to the creek.” 

“ Now while Nell drinks we will finish Gertrude’s 
letter,” said Mrs. Bartman, when they had driven 
down into the cool shade of the ford, where the 
clear water rippled over the stones and sand-bars. 

“ Now dear Mrs. Bartman,” the letter read, “ I 
have some of the saddest news you ever heard. 
It was so to me, and I am sure it will shock all the 
dear people back there.” Then she gave a detailed 
account of what had occurred at the Infirmary; all 
about the signs and rumors of foul play, and the 
details of Mr. Carson’s death. The letter closed 
by saying, “ I have the utmost faith in my religion. 



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Three Letters — Again. 


205 


but I must confess that such a Providence is both 
unfortunate and past finding out. How could one 
of God’s children meet with such cruelty, and be 
snatched away to an untimely grave? No, Brother 
Carson will come no mor£ to your valley. He is 
by now, sleeping under the blue grass of Old Ken- 
tucky. Do you remember the evening he sang ‘ My 
old Kentucky Home/ for us ? Don’t misunderstand 
me, I am more than half disappointed that I am 
not to return to you next September. Give my love 
to everybody. 

“ I am sincerely yours, 

“ Gertrude.” 

Scarcely a word was spoken, during the remain- 
der of the journey. We shall not tire our readers 
by a visit to the many sad homes of Skaggs Valley, 
when the news became circulated, but the sorrow 
felt and expressed by them was as genuine as it 
was simple. 

“ Huh,” said Silas Bartman, when his wife re- 
lated the news to him at the supper-table. “ He’s 
jist as apt to die as any ’un else.” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


THE CAMP-MEETING. 

The Deer Creek camp-meeting was a lingering 
land-mark of a religious regime rapidly becoming 
history. The old camp-meeting in the woods was 
the forerunner of Christian civilization ; bringing to 
the pioneers a gospel surcharged with the terrors 
of the law, and the majesty and power of God. The 
modern Chautauqua has come in with its entertain- 
ment, esthetic culture, and just enough of the relig- 
ious, to claim kin with its legitimate parent, the 
camp meeting in the woods. The Chautauqua, with 
its softer messages and broader ideals, may seem 
to meet every requirement ; but there is a something 
transmitted to us, from the religion of our fathers, 
that responds to the revivalism in “ God’s first 
temples,” which popular lectures, histrionic art, 
prima donnas, and handkerchief salutes will not 
satisfy. 

The Deer Creek campground, with its rude lum- 
ber shed, rough board seats, mourners’ bench and 
saw-dust floor, had every qualification to delight the 
hearts of the fathers and mothers in Zion. The 
management had guarded strenuously against all 
modern innovations. The dress of the preacher or 
206 


The Camp-Meeting. 


20 7 


evangelist who brought them the message of life, 
received due attention, especially if anything unus- 
ual was observed. Days before opening whole fam- 
ilies in wagons and ox-carts, arrived on the grounds, 
preparing quarters in tents or the many shanties 
built by the individuals for a temporary home dur- 
ing the annual meeting. Hundreds were ready at 
the opening service to launch the salvation ship. 

Old Mr. and Mrs. Vanzant, who had recently 
become the foster father and mother of Frank Bart- 
man, were always among the early arrivals, and this 
year were among the first, because, as the old man 
said, “ they had given him the job of lookin’ after 
the grounds and things.” Elijah Vanzant believed 
that a Levite that helped about the Temple had his 
place to fill as well as the high priest at the altar. 

The whole thing was a wonder to Frank; he had 
never dreamed that so many people could be inter- 
ested in religious matters. The two days previous 
to the opening were full of joyous anticipations. 
His boyish heart was stirred and encouraged. 

The summer days were beginning to hasten to- 
ward the autumn; the forests of majestic trees wore 
the dark green, with here and there a red and yellow 
tint. It is always the idle season, selected for that 
reason, in order that the camp-meeting interests 
have right of way over all else. The farm work 
was conscientiously adjusted, so that wayward sons 
and daughters might be brought to the meeting to 


2o8 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


get them “ converted.” This department of the 
child’s training was regarded as necessary and 
practical as trades or education. 

The opening was all that had been anticipated; 
the evangelist, the congregation, the service, includ- 
ing song, prayers, and sermon had what the 
preacher called; “a swing of victory.” There was 
no organ to lead the music, but the singing rolled 
in volumns of unction and power. 

“ Well, son, what do you think of it,” said Eli- 
jah Vanzant to Frank, when they had retired to 
their tent. 

“ I never saw nor heard of anything like it,” he 
replied. 

“ Just wait till Brother Benson comes, the presi- 
dent of Baraca College; he’s the one I want you 
to see. We are looking for ’im in a day or two. 
My, but he’s a good one.” 

“ Wisht Brother Carson would come here and 
preach,” the boy replied. Whenever anything was 
said about preachers, Frank reminded them of his 
hero. We never find anyone greater than those 
who lead us into the light. 

When at last silence reigned over the grounds, 
except the low buzz of conversation in a few tents, 
Frank watched the stars peep out in the open places 
of the tree-tops through a big crack in the shanty 
wall near his bunk. He had been ushered into a 
new and different world; the people were generally 


The Camp-Meeting. 


209 


of the same class that he had always known, but 
their manner, their conversation, their ideals were 
so lofty and sincere. “ Oh, if mother could only 
be among such folks,” he thought to himself. Then 
he began to trace in his own crude philosophy, the 
strange Providence that had pushed them from their 
Kentucky home in ruin and poverty, the accident 
that turned their journey to Skaggs Valley; the 
coming of Miss Moss and the minister; the opposi- 
tion of his own father, which drove him from 
home; and at last found him among a generation 
of people whose hopes and visions were anchored 
in the everlasting thoughts of God. Then his heart 
apprehended in its ramifications the adolescent 
dream of brown eyes and wavy auburn hair. He 
was half afraid to whisper to himself the realiza- 
tion of his ecstatic vision. A dark cloud floated 
across the bright galaxy he had been watching from 
the port-hole in the wall; and from a nearby tent 
came a verse of a song in a low plaintive voice : 

“ When I can read my titles clear, 

To mansions in the skies : 

I’ll bid farewell to every fear, 

And wipe my weeping eyes.” 

.With the beautiful old time refrain : 

“ I will stand the storm, 

I will anchor by and by ; 

I will stand the storm ; 

I will anchor by and by.” 


210 


The Vulture's Claw. 


Several rods away came the loud, deep, sonorous 
voice of the watchman. “ Silence, silence all over 
the g-r-o-u-n-d-s.” 

Another feature was a surprise and a revelation 
to Frank. At six o’clock on the first morning a 
large company gathered under the shed and en- 
gaged in fervent earnest prayer. It was not a quiet 
orderly service led by one person, but everyone was 
leader, and seemed to take an equal part in all that 
was done. 

A large dinner bell near the shed was used to 
announce all the proceedings, beginning with the 
early prayer meeting, and continuing until the last 
service at night. 

“ When ye git the horses tended to, Frank, come 
over to the praise service in the shed ; that’s where 
everybody gets a chance.” This was not new to 
the boy, as he had attended them in the old tobacco- 
barn. 

“ I’ll sure be there, Uncle ’Lijah,” he replied, “ I 
don’t want to miss anything.” And he was there 
and gave a strong unctuous testimony that attracted 
the attention of everyone present, and was a source 
of great satisfaction to Uncle Elijah and Aunt 
Martha Vanzant. 

The second day passed with a rising tide; each 
service gathered momentum, and the woods rang 
with glad hallelujahs. The altars were crowded 
with penitents, and many young and old, “ prayed 


The Camp-Meeting. 


21 I 


through ” as the workers termed it, and gave testi- 
mony to their saving faith. 

“ We are having a regular ‘ Feast of Tabernacles ’ 
ain’t we,” said Mr. Vanzant, to a company who had 
gathered under a tree, between services. “ And here 
comes Brother Benson.” All eyes turned in the 
direction of the road, saw a tall man coming, wear- 
ing a long duster and carrying a grip. The college 
president wore a good-natured smile as he greeted 
the company. 

“ Before you go to your tent Brother Benson, I 
want you to meet my boy,” said Mr. Vanzant. 

“ Have you picked up another boy, Brother Van- 
zant ? ” replied the president. “ You have reared 
more children than anyone I ever knew, and yet 
have none of your own.” 

“ ‘ Inasmuch as ye do it unto the least,’ you re- 
member, Brother Benson; but this time I have what 
I’ve always wanted — a preacher, and you must take 
him right along with you. When he gets the rough 
corners rubbed off, he’ll see the day he’ll make a 
camp-meeting hum. You mark my words.” 

A bashful, timid boy is always at a disadvantage, 
and it was true of Frank. The honor of being 
introduced to a college president completely un- 
nerved him, and he stammered and blushed until 
the college man feared that his old friend had made 
a mistake, and that his high aspirations for the 
boy were without much assurance. 


212 


The Vulture's Claw. 


“ I am glad to meet your young friend,” said the 
president, “ when you recommend a boy, it is about 
all I want to know. And you think of coming to 
our school this year,” he continued, addressing 
Frank. “ We are expecting as fine a body of young 
men and women as can be found in the land.” 

“ Yes mam — or yes sir — I hope, maybe — or Uncle 
’Lijah says, or I alius wanted to,” the poor boy 
stammered, as the man looked him over. 

“ Say, Brother Vanzant, are you sure there is 
something in young Bartman to justify your putting 
money as well as hopes and prayers into his future ? ” 
said Benson to his old friend, after Frank had left 
them. 

“ I haven’t a doubt sir; he’s timid as a girl, but 
he’s got pluck to the core; old fashioned Kentucky 
blood, and a good case of religion; and when you 
find all that in a boy, you can bank on him,” was the 
vigorous reply. 

“ All right, you are not often mistaken in a 
man.” 

“ Can you use him in any way, Brother Benson, 
working around to help pay his expenses ? ” 

“ I have but one place open, Brother, and that is 
not very desirable ; it is that of janitor, caring for 
the rooms, and sleeping in the basement. The boy 
who does it must lay aside his pride; but we have 
had some splendid pupils who did it in the past.” 

“ Don’t look any further ; he’ll take it, and I will 
vouch for him giving satisfaction.” 


The Camp-Meeting. 


213 


“ Our school opens in three weeks, you know ; 
and the boy who does that work should be there at 
least a week before any students arrive. ,, 

“ He can go any day you say the word,” Uncle 
Elijah replied quickly. 

The letter that was written to Frank’s mother at 
the close of those wonderful ten days would be 
difficult to reproduce. Every item was given due 
attention with all the imaginative coloring; and the 
mother’s heart bounded with joy as she read his 
enthusiastic and even extravagant language of all 
that occurred. “ And now, mother, I have kept 
the best news for the last. I can never make you 
understand all about the big meeting ; but the presi- 
dent of Baraca College was there and has given me 
a place to work my way. You know I’ve got a little 
money that I worked for, and Uncle Elijah will help 
me with the rest I need. I will go in two weeks, 
and if nothing happens I will stay there till I 
graduate. Won’t that be fine? It may be a long 
time before I see you again, but I’m going to do 
my best, so you won’t be ashamed of me when I do 
come. 


Your only boy. 


Frank.” 


CHAPTER XXV. 


INTRA MUROS. 

It was a warm evening in early September; a 
few leaves had begun to fall, not because of the 
frost, but the hot summer sun. The ten acres of 
beautiful trees and shrubbery, which almost hid 
from view the large brick buildings in the center, 
had lost but little of their adornment. Art and 
nature had combined and vied with each other to 
gladden the eyes of any spectator who would take 
the .pains to look at the campus of Baraca College. 

An old colored man was moving slowly around 
the fence near the street, or rather the lane, as the 
school was located some distance outside the “ city 
limits ” of the small town of P. The negro was 
making some repairs on the fence where an occa- 
sional white paling had been broken. 

A lad of seventeen carrying an old fashioned 
valise, entered the campus gate and closed it with 
a snap. This unexpected noise aroused the old 
black man who in his day-dream, was unconscious 
of the presence of anyone. The boy looked like a 
member of the great army of stragglers who often 
wandered from the railroad in search of food, and 
214 

I 


Intra Muros. 


2I 5 

entered the town by the way of the college rather 
than tramp in by the depot. 

“ Can you tell me where Mis — or Professor Ben- 
son is? ” inquired the youth timidly as if approach- 
ing a superior. 

The old darky made no reply, but dubiously 
scrutinized the boy from head to foot with a look 
that indicated an uncertainty as to whether or not 
the questioner was entitled to the consideration of 
an answer. After a painful pause, and an expertus 
metuit air, he finally gave the characterisic grunt, 
and replied sternly : “ Nq Sah, ain’t no Mistah 
Benson heah — I spects yo bettah mozy on.” 

The words stung, and the boy’s Southern blood 
began to revolt at such an insult from a colored 
roustabout. He was about to remind Uncle Zeck 
that he was a nigger talking to a college student, 
but his better self came to the rescue. “ If he is not 
at home, tell me where I can go and wait ’till he 
comes. He is looking for me, and I ” 

“ Open the gate, Zeck,” called a loud voi£e ; and 
they both turned to see a vehicle outside, in which 
President Benson was seated. 

“ Yes Sah, yes Sah,” he said, and dropping the 
hatchet from his hand, he hurried to obey. “ De 
young gemmin am waitin’, Sah, to see ye,” he con- 
tinued, showing two rows of pearl with an ebony 
background. Uncle Zeck knew his place when the 
president or any of the faculty were about; but in 


2l6 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


their absence he felt solemnly bound to guard the 
premises against all suspicious comers. His stand- 
ard of fidelity was to take no chances, and he 
magnified his office. 

“ Good morning, Brother Frank; come and get in 
the buggy with me. I did not expect you until 
to-morrow. It is always better to be a day ahead 
than a day behind.” 

The general superintendent, pro tem, took in the 
situation, and, at once realized he had made a mis- 
take ; whereupon, he snatched the valise from 
Frank’s hand, and quickly deposited it in the buggy, 
bowing and lifting his hat as the vehicle rattled over 
the gravel toward the cluster of buildings in the 
center of the campus. 

“ I will let you work to-day, getting your own 
room fixed up,” said the president, as he hitched the 
horse in front of the main building. “ We will go 
into the office, and you may take a seat while I look 
over the morning mail.” 

Frank had never seen so many letters in his life, 
in one pile. The man took a long slim instrument 
resembling a table knife and opened them all before 
stopping. The boy was also filled with strange awe 
as he looked about the room; the high ceilings and 
walls were covered with pictures of distinguished 
looking men. The nearest one attracted his atten- 
tion, and looking closely he was able to read the 
name which almost caused him to leap to his feet : 


Intra Muros. 


217 

“ Sir Walter Scott/' Here was almost a life-sized 
face of the man who had written “ Ivanhoe.” His 
mind swept away to those thrilling scenes among 
the enchanted highlands. He communed at once 
with the master spirit that beamed down upon him. 
Frank Bartman knew but little of the reflex power 
coming to the mind and imagination by being in 
touch with the fountains of good literature, but the 
little taste had stirred him to white heat desire to 
drink deeper. Two emotions were aroused and 
tingled to his finger-tips : one was the anticipation of 
preparing for the work to which he felt so definitely 
called ; the other was that he had at last found the 
place where avenues of knowledge and truth were to 
be opened under great and efficient leaders. 

The first introduction to college life usually has 
a depressing efifect : the homesickness, the new 
environment, the stiff, dignified professors, the 
drudgery of continued mental application, the em- 
barrassment from a lack of experience; Frank saw 
nothing but victory ahead. 

The room in the basement which was to be his 
quarters for the coming year, presented anything 
but a promising appearance. Old boxes, a broken 
trunk, a rickety bedstead, and some other things 
once dignified by the name of furniture, were all 
stacked up in the middle of the room, covered with 
dust and cob-webs. The soiled paper and a large 
patch of plastering fallen to the floor added much to 


2l8 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


the inelegance of the room. A rusty stove stood 
in the corner supporting a stove-pipe that had to be 
wired from several directions in order to stand. 
On the wall hung a cheap chromo, in a frame that 
was once gilt, but now completely obscured with the 
smoke and dirt. 

“If he can keep up nerve against that proposi- 
tion, ” said the president to himself, as he turned 
away, leaving Frank surrounded by chaos, “ he 
certainly has a courageous heart. I think he means 
business; a few days will give me an estimate of 
him. I must not forget to tell Aunt Sally to look 
after his wants while I am away.” 

Aunt Sally was the wife of the old man who had 
given Frank such an inhospitable reception; but she 
did not assume the authority that so often charac- 
terized her husband; and Frank was left in good 
hands the first day spent within the walls of a 
college. When the noon hour came, the boy’s heart 
was gladdened by the appearance of the kind-faced 
aunt Sally bearing the good news that dinner was 
ready. 

Long before night the room which was to be 
the scene of so many struggles and triumphs, had 
taken on an air of respectability and complete trans- 
formation. The broom, sponge, and mop had given 
a fresh, clean aspect to floor, walls and windows. 
The spiders, roaches, and other insects that frequent 
places of dirt and gloom, had perished or escaped to 


Intra Muros. 


219 


other corners of solitude. When the old red stove 
had been given due attention with polish and brush 
borrowed from the colored woman, the boy was well 
pleased with the day’s labor. 

The first night was spent with little sleep and 
less rest; the fitful seasons of unconsciousness were 
miserable panoramic experiences. He was in the 
great rooms, piled to the ceiling with rubbish and 
debris; the students were swarming about, trying 
to get in, but were unable to do so because of the 
plunder and dirt. Hour after hour he tugged away 
at the piles, trying to prepare them for the finely 
dressed boys and girls who were coming; but the 
more he worked the less he seemed to accomplish. 
The president was impatient, and the students were 
complaining. Morning came at last and brought 
blessed relief; and as he once more breathed the 
fresh balmy air, his heart became happy and gay. 

“ If you have finished your room, Frank,” said 
the president, who came in on an early train, “ you 
may begin on the chapel, this morning; now make 
every inch of it shine. Work on the platform first ; 
move all the chairs in the rear end, until the front 
is clean and dry.” 

“ All right,” said Frank. 

“ After to-day, I shall be at home ; our boys and 
girls will begin to arrive soon. Is Aunt Sally tak- 
ing good care of you?” 

“ Yes, sir; she is mighty good to me.” 


220 


The Vulture's Claw. 


After Frank had eaten an excellent dinner, cooked 
by one who was in the succession of kitchen queens 
capable of preparing the most delicious foods, he 
spent the remainder of the hour alone in the office 
studying the faces of those great men. “ I’m going 
to know you all better some of these days,” he 
mused, while Shakespeare, Hugo, Scott, Wesley, 
Gladstone, and Longfellow seemed to smile their 
approval at his noble aspirations. 

It was the last day he spent alone around the 
college; students with trunks and valises began to 
arrive in large numbers on every train. The last 
train came late in the evening; Frank and Uncle 
Zeck drove the large spring wagon to the depot for 
the accomodation of any who might come. What 
a transformation; what a promotion! Frank Bart- 
man of Skaggs Valley meeting students, help- 
ing them with their baggage, and answering ques- 
tions. The luxury of it all, was a note written each 
night as part of one great letter to be sent to cheer 
and comfort a mother heart away in her mountain 
home. 

When the students began to come, the work of 
cleaning and scrubbing was turned over to the old 
negro; and Frank was kept busy helping about the 
two dormitories. When the opening day came, 
instead of gathering in the chapel for organization 
and assignment of work, it was an assembly to hear 
a great gospel sermon. The message was like a 


Intra Muros. 


221 


light-house shining across a dark, restless sea. So 
much talk about books and learning; about science 
and mathematics, had almost supplanted Frank’s 
religious aspirations. For an hour the mighty 
preacher poured forth an eloquent discourse on the 
Person, Character, and Work of the “ Man of 
Galilee.” The text seemed to burn and blaze with 
new meaning; the holy unction swept every soul 
like a tornado. “ This is my beloved Son, hear ye 
Him.” The Nazarene once more became the only 
One to be adored, high over all; the lesson was 
learned anew that the first and greatest duty was to 
sit at His feet, rather than at those of the eminent 
men whose pictures adorned the college walls. 

The power of intellectualism on the minds of am- 
bitious students is overwhelming; it is insidious and 
subtle; and cannot be met with syllogisms and 
scientific terminologies ; its only master is an exalted 
faith that knows the unknowable ; that sweeps away 
beyond the tangible and human, to the intangible 
but real. Wise above the wisdom of this world is 
the institution of learning that makes faith in the 
Invisible, life’s greatest lesson. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


HAPPY ANTICIPATIONS. 

It has been said : happy is the land that is not 
making history; this was true of Skaggs Valley; 
for a number of years it had passed through a period 
of the commonplace. Nothing had happened; after 
Miss Moss went away, and the mysterious disap- 
pearance of the young preacher, the Valley soon 
settled down to the normal humdrum that had 
characterized the place for, nobody knows how long. 
The conference had been unable to supply them with 
a minister; and the little seed planted there by the 
young martyr, with but few exceptions, was soon 
devoured by the vultures of evil, or choked out by 
old habits and appetites easily aroused. Some 
things were done, however, the eternal annals only 
will reveal: Old Tom, faithful to the public con- 
fession, had made a pilgrimage to the scenes of his 
boyhood seeking to right the wrongs of early indis- 
cretion; but found only strangers, and his search 
was in vain. Two years after they had laid him 
away on the sunny slope, a few steps from the 
grave of Mrs. Wiggins. From the hour of his 
convertion in the tobacco-barn, the old man had 
lived and talked with the inspiration of his new 


222 


Happy Anticipations. 


223 


found affection. Some who watched at his lonely 
bed-side, as his breath grew weaker, and the life- 
boat was tugging at its earthly anchorage, so soon 
to put out to sea, saw a strange halo gather about 
his head. It was not enough to be startling, but 
it was seen and understood by Mrs. Bartman and 
Mr. Wiggins. The light of glory had entered the 
rude death chamber, and all felt the imminence of a 
strange Presence. 

Old Tom had been a fixture in the Valley for 
many years, and his business had brought him in 
touch with every man in that vast region of hills. 
The news of his death spread, and the “ burying ” 
the following day brought together a great throng 
of people. The Old Goshen road that always looked 
so deserted and lonely, was the thoroughfare of an 
immense procession. Under an old elm, near the 
“ g a P ” to the graveyard, the body was placed for a 
simple service. Dixie, whose voice had grown 
stronger and richer, sang the songs the old man 
loved so well, and the music cast a profound spell 
over the uncouth assembly. Then Mr. Wiggins 
talked briefly of the life so humble and sincere lived 
among them. When Mark Anthony told over the 
dead body of Caesar, the legacy left by him for the 
citizens of Rome, the sensation was not greater, 
though differently expressed, than when Mr. Wig- 
gins, in his closing remarks, told the citizens of 
Skaggs Valley that Old Tom Diggs had requested 


224 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


in his will that his home and mill be sold, and every 
cent used for the erection of a combination school- 
house and church, for the good of his neighbors 
and their children. 

Some months after, a man was induced to buy the 
property, but the pay came only as it could be 
realized from the business; hence, the promised 
blessing seemed a long time materializing. Mr. 
Wiggins remained steadfast; in times of sickness 
and death, he shared with Mrs. Bartman the vicar- 
age of the entire community. 

Each year Miss Moss had renewed her pleadings 
for Dixie to come to the city ; but the girl would not 
consent to leave her father. “ You do not know,” 
she wrote, “ how your offer tempts me. I want to 
be somebody; but poor, dear Papy, I cannot leave 
him ; he is so lonely. It would break his heart, and 
yet he is willing for me to go. It is all for the 
best; I am devouring every book I can get. Josh 
has sent me money several times to use as I please, 
and most of it has been spent for such books as you 
suggested. I read a book last winter on ‘ What is 
an education ; ’ and it taught that schools and 
colleges were not absolutely essential to a cultured 
mind. So I am resolved to do what I can, and the 
best I can ; at the same time to be true to my father. 
It may seem a little funny, but I have read and 
studied almost all the books that Frank is using in 
college. Don’t you think it is a shame that his 


Happy Anticipations. 


225 


father is so opposed to him and his ambitions? 
Surely a father ought to be proud of such a boy. 
Do you know he has never been home since he and 
Josh went away? Now read this carefully, in con- 
clusion : I can never forgive you if you allow 
another vacation to pass without coming to see us.” 

It was true, that Dixie was becoming a bright, 
cultured girl, in spite of her environment. In every 
way possible she had tried to sweeten her father’s 
home life. He had always been to her a sad, 
silent man; as he grew older, she observed many 
strange things about him, which she could not under- 
stand. Even since his change for the better, the 
old seasons of depression would sometimes return. 

It was a beautiful morning in June, Dixie had 
received a long letter from Gertrude, saying that 
matters were changing, and she must not build her 
hopes too high ; as the expected visit to the moun- 
tains was very uncertain. The letter was a great 
disappointment; and an answer, which gave full ex- 
pression to that feeling, she had just finished, when 
Mr. Wiggins returned from the post-office bringing 
another bearing an unknown postmark. When she 
opened it and read a few lines, she almost screamed 
for joy; without a word of explanation, she threw 
her arms around Mr. Wiggins’s neck, and gave him 
a good hug. 

“ What in the name of common-sense ails you, 
darlin’,” he said, trying to take in her enthusiasm 
and joy. 


226 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


“ Oh Papy, he’s coming home, he’ll be here in a 
week.” 

“ Who chile, who’s cornin’ ? ” 

“ Oh you great big Papy ; don’t you know ? Why 
Josh, of course. Who else could be coming 
home?” 

“ Now ain’t that fine. Think how long ’e’s bin 
gone frum us. They’ve bin mighty lonesome years. 
I ’low ’e’s a fine lookin’ feller, by now.” 

“ I’m going right over to tell Mrs. Bartman ; she 
will be so glad. I can’t keep any good things from 
her, can I, Papy ? ” 

“Don’t think ye ort to; ’f ’ever anybody’s bin 
blest by a person, it’s us, by that woman. Her 
little finger’s worth more in any market, than all of 
that old crusty man of hern.” 

“ Don’t talk that way, Papy; I know it’s true, but 
he was born in the wrong time of the moon, as old 
Sister Cox used to say.” 

“ It’s more of the old Nick, than the moon and 
stars. He gave me a long string of stuff, once, 
about an ole Gipsey, an’ as how she’d hit it to a 
plumb.” 

“ I will be home, Papy, in time to get dinner.” 

“ Now, you need’nt do that, less you want to ; as 
I’m not goin’ to be here, myse’f. You kin stay all 
day’s well as not.” 

The girl’s heart bounded with childish glee, as she 
tripped across the field. In spite of her age, she had 
retained much of her earlier vivacity. She pictured 


Happy Anticipations. 


22 7 


her brother as a fine looking man, nicely dressed in 
city clothes, with a gold watch, and wearing a pretty 
silk cravat. He would have so much to tell her 
about the wild country, and the Indians. 

When she came to the last fence, before entering 
Mr. Bartman’s pasture, her breath was well-nigh 
spent, and climbing to the top rail, she decided to 
rest a moment. Her eyes followed Old Goshen in 
the direction of Twin Peaks; a buzzard was lazily 
circling around Thompsons Bald ; a horseman came 
creeping down the hill. It was one she had often 
seen before, and never without a temptation to evil 
and revenge. 

“ That’s Lanky Joe; I guess he is coming over to 
visit his faithful chum,” she mused to herself. 
“ That is just what he is; I will hurry on.” 

Fortunately for all, Mr. Barttnan was not at 
home, and Tate made inquiries before dismounting. 

“ We shall have the whole day to ourselves, 
Dixie,” said Mrs. Bartman, after she had sent the 
unwelcome guest on his way. 

“ Oh you don’t know what I have to tell you,” 
said Dixie. 

“ May I guess,” she replied. 

“ Yes, but you cannot guess in a week; go ahead.” 

“ Let me see,” she said, as if meditating. “ No 
— I was going to say, but it is not that — let me see, 
well — oh yes, now I know : Josh is coming home.” 

Before she could finish, Dixie had her arms 


228 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


around her neck. “ How on earth did you know, 
anyway ? ” 

“ You see I was at the office, yesterday evening, 
and the letter was shown me, with the usual 
inquiries. I was looking for you to come over this 
morning to tell me the good news.” 

“ I have not mailed my letter to Gertrude yet ; 
suppose we both write and urge her to come. I 
just know they are crazy to see each other.” 

And the plan was agreed upon ; a very imperative 
invitation was sent, with an ultimatum which was 
little short of a command. On the day before Josh 
was due to arrive, the expected letter from St. Louis 
was brought from the office by Bud Simmons. Bud 
would watch for opportunities to do a kindness that 
resulted in his being the beneficiary of a “ Thank 
you,” from Dixie. The communication would al- 
ways end there, but he never grew discouraged. He 
would often say : “ It’s a mighty cold trail, but I’ve 

treed many of a coon by follern a cold trail.” 

This time Dixie was almost too anxious to know 
the contents of her letter to extend the usual 
courtsey; but with a little nod, she left the profes- 
sional follower of cold trails on a colder one than 
ever. She read: 

“ I will leave for Skaggs Valley in three days. 
Hastily, Gertrude.” 

“ Oh goody,” she screamed out in the vernacular 
of her childhood. In less than an hour, Mrs. Bart- 


Happy Anticipations. 229 

man and Dixie were planning for the entertainment 
of the two welcome guests, and especially for the 
surprise to be given them both. 

“ If my precious boy could only be here,” said 
Mrs. Bartman to herself, late the next evening, as 
she looked across the field toward Lover’s Leap, 
seeing the hack coming around the curve of Devil’s 
backbone. “ Only one more year of waiting. It 
is a sweet thought: my only child a college grad- 
uate.” 

“ When air ye goin’ to have supper ready, any- 
how,” came a harsh voice from the kitchen door, 
which broke into her reveries. “ Did’nt I tell ye I 
wanted it airly ? ” 

“ Yes, and I will not keep you waiting very long. 
Dixie just left, and I did not think it was so late. 
Josh is coming home to-night, and I see the hack is 
going in at their g ” 

“ What did you say? Josh Wiggins cornin’ 
home ? ” 

“ Yes, he has already arrived.” 

Silas sat down and did not speak for a long time. 

“ Does Frank know Vs cornin’ ? ” 

“ I think not,” she replied. 

“ Frank’s bin gone a long time,” said he; a tone of 
sadness in his voice. 

“ Yes, but I gladly do without him, hard as it is,” 
she said, slowly. 

Bartman ate his supper in silence and left without 
a word. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


AN OLD ENEMY. 

As Mrs. Bartman was expecting visitors she was 
not surprised to hear a loud nervous rap at the door 
a short time after her husband had left the room. 

“Just come on in; I know that knock — you can’t 
foo ” 

Before she had finished the familiar welcome, the 
door which was slightly ajar swung open and Dixie 
bounded in like a school-girl. 

“ I want to introduce you to my gentleman 
friend,” she said, turning to her brother who looked 
embarrassed, notwithstanding his strong, manly 
appearance. 

A great change had come to Josh Wiggins; but 
the change was not a surprise to the woman who 
had held him in high regard, even when the future 
seemed to promise but little. Over four years of 
association with men and large enterprises, had 
removed the boy’s homely mountain airs, both in 
speech and manners. He had grown a little taller, 
and his dress showed neatness and culture; not the 
drawing-room sort, but it was such as gave to Josh 
ease and confidence in any presence. 

For five years he had been intimately associated 
230 


An Old Enemy. 


231 


with a civil engineer who was a college man, with 
wide reading and experience. Many young men 
could have had the same opportunity without being 
the gainer, but not so with Josh Wiggins. He had 
secretly, and critically watched Mr. Spencer’s lan- 
guage, dress and table manners ; in fact he was to the 
green boy from the hills, a perfect model, and it was 
no surprise to see the flush of pride on Dixie’s face 
as she presented her big brother to one who was 
equally proud of the fine looking gentleman from 
the West. 

“ Now I am going to object to any more flattery,” 
said Josh. “ This little brunette has been bragging 
on me ever since I got out of the stage.” 

“ You just let Dixie brag all she wants to,” said 
Mrs. Bartman, taking Josh by the hand, and at the 
same time kissing him with a motherly affection. 
“ Remember she is four years behind and I don’t 
blame her.” 

“ If you hadn’t kissed him I would have been 
real mad,” put in Dixie, as she observed the kindly 
greeting to her brother. 

“ Josh knows that was a mother’s kiss : my heart 
is so hungry to see my own boy, that to see Josh 
again, makes me feel like Frank is not far away.” 

“ That’s all right, but you had better give this 
puffing in broken doses, I am not used to it,” he 
replied. 

For over an hour they went over the past years ; 


232 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


very little had happened in Skaggs Valley, but Josh 
had many things to tell them about the great big 
world beyond the range of western hills, where 
Dixie had watched the sun sink away so many 
times in her loneliness. The girl’s eager heart had 
communed with the beautiful scenes; she loved 
them, but she hungered for human companionship. 
Now that the dawn of a new day was promised, her 
heart overflowed in a perfect ripple of talk and 
laughter. 

“ Sis, you are a worse chatterbox than you used 
to be,” said her brother trying to talk between 
Dixie’s interruptions. 

“ I just can’t help it, and I’m not going to try,” 
she rejoined with a little pouty look. 

Just as they were preparing to leave, Silas Bart- 
man entered the door. A look of astonishment 
came over his face as he saw before him the stalwart 
gentleman, whom he had known as an overgrown, 
uncouth boy. Somehow he shrank from the gaze 
of eyes that met his without the slightest show of 
nervousness. He had been associated with the big 
champion of Skaggs Valley, who had nursed his hate 
against young Josh, since the day of Brown’s picnic. 

He recognized in the young man, one capable of 
taking care of himself under all circumstances. Just 
why he should feel uneasy and look guilty in the 
presence of the boy who had almost dropped out of 
his life, he was himself unable to understand. It 


An Old Enemy. 


2 33 


was a coincidence that brought other scenes before 
the sulky man. He at once regained his composure 
and made a strong effort to show a welcome. 

“ Well now, I’m mor’n glad to see ye, Josh,” he 
said, extending his hand, which was grasped heartily 
by the other. “ My, but the West agrees with ye, 
for certain. You’ve out-growed all the goslin’.” 

“ I am truly glad to see you, Mr. Bartman. The 
few years have made very little if any impression on 
you,” said Josh, “ you do not look a day older than 
when I saw you last.” 

“ Well it’s a wonder I don’t; it’s been mighty 
tough livin’, I tell ye. I’m not old but it’s all been 
piled on me, and the toughest stick o’ timber in the 
woods will play out some time.” 

“ You are good for many years yet, I am sure.” 

“ Are ye all leavin’, don’t go cause I come in,” 
said Bartman, his voice unusually friendly, as they 
made signs of departing. 

“ No, we must go,” said Dixie, “ Papy was too 
tired to come along, and we promised not to stay 
very late.” 

“ Sorry ’e didn’t come over; bring ’im along next 
time. Goin’ to stay home now ? ” he asked. 

“ Oh no, only a few days, it’s my vacation, and 
about the first one I’ve had since I went away.” 

It was a lovely June night; and the moon had 
risen above Twin Peaks and the whole valley 
looked lonely and deserted. 


2 34 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


“ Let’s walk around under Lover’s Leap,” said 
Josh as they closed the gate behind them and started 
up the Old Goshen road. “ I just want to stroll 
a little for old times sake. We don’t need to cut 
across the field. We are too late to see the big 
bear, to-night. The moon has driven him back into 
his den, before now.” 

“ We will get to see him to-morrow night,” said 
Dixie; “ we’ll enjoy seeing it too, I can hardly 
wait.” 

“ What ! are you so struck on that old shadow 
that you have seen every month all your life?” he 
remarked quickly. 

The little scheme for her brother’s surprise, came 
near getting away from Dixie, in her enthusiasm. 

“ O, I just knew how you would enjoy seeing it 
again,” she replied, and immediately turned the con- 
versation. 

“ These dear old hills, how I love them,” said 
Josh, more to himself than to his sister. “ I have 
carried some happy pictures in my mind, from these 
childhood haunts. Here is the spot where I fought 
my hardest battle,” he continued, pointing to a rock 
near the roadside close to where Old Goshen dips 
down under Lover’s Leap. 

“ What was it, tell me about it ; you know every- 
thing that is of interest to you, interests me,” she 
inquired, looking up into his handsome face. 

“ There are some things too sacred to whisper to 


An Old Enemy. 


235 


ourselves, much less to others. The very dream 
and hope that helped me to make the fight, just 
mocked and made fun of me ; but some way I could 
not help it. I am not sorry I tried either.” 

“ Tell me, won’t you, Josh? ” 

He put his arm around her and the slight pressure 
was like a bear hug to her lithe figure. 

“ I would, Sis, but I was a boy then and I am 
ashamed to think of it myself. I will tell you when 
it came off, do you remember the morning Gertrude 
left our house? You remember I did not show up 
at breakfast, and never got around to say good-bye ; 
well, I sneaked out here and hid in that hole. 
There I prayed and cried, sweated and groaned, 
until I said to myself ; I’m going to be a man that 
nobody is ashamed of, or die. You know I hit the 
gravel road in a few days after.” 

“ Oh ! I understand all about it, and thank good- 
ness I’ve got a brother who has had the courage to 
brave such adverse winds. It will all come right. 
Everything will come to those who wait. If we 
could only learn how to wait. The mills grind 
slowly, but surely.” 

“ When did you become such a philosopher ? ” he 
asked, “ I am amazed at the bright things my little 
sister keeps saying.” 

“ If you knew how many books I have read, and 
subjects I have studied, you would think I am woe- 
fully dull not to know more than I do.” 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


236 

“Tell me about Frank; how is he getting along, 
rubbing around books and professors for so long, 
does he still write as long and tender letters as when 
he first went away ? ” 

“ Now don’t you ask so many questions,” she 
replied, giving him a little pinch on the arm. “ You 
know I have a great liking for preachers in general, 
whether I have for any in particular or not.” 

“ Oh well, you don’t know preachers in general. 
Poor Brother Carson ; how sad I feel when I think 
of him. Has no light come on his strange death ? ” 

“ Nothing for certain, we all think more than we 
would dare to brea ” 

“ Hel-hel-o-w ; purty time er-hic-night-fur-a- 
sparkin’-er-on the-hic-big ro-ad,” came the coarse, 
thick-tongued speech of a drunken man, who 
seemed to rise up in the middle of the road. 

“Oh! it’s Lanky Joe,” said Dixie, clutching her 
brother’s arm. “ And he’s drunk. Don’t let him 
know who you are.” 

“ Get out of the road and move on,” said Josh in 
a commanding voice. 

“ We-11 see fi-do, who are-yo-u, a bossin’ me.” 
Whereupon he staggered toward them in terrible 
rage. 

He was met with an open handed box, on the face, 
that sent him reeling to the fence corner. 

With an ugly oath the man regained himself, and 
as he came again, they saw a long blade glitter in the 
v moonlight. 


An Old Enemy. 


2 37 


“ Get out of the way quick/’ said Josh, and with 
a leap as light as a panther he grasped the arm as it 
was descending with a murderous swing, and gave 
it a twist that caused the knife to fall and the man 
sink to the ground howling with pain. 

“Get up from there, Joe Tate; you low-down 
scoundrel, and do it quick. I’m of age now. There 
is the road. I’ll mash you in the earth as I would a 
snake, if you ever bother me again.” 

The drunken man stared at his antagonist for a 
moment in blank astonishment then turned away 
without a word. 

“ I think he is pretty well sobered,” said Josh. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


THE REUNION. 

“ You will find your supper on the table,” said 
Mrs. Bartman, at noon, on the day following. “ I 
shall not be here.” 

“ I can’t see fur the life of me, whur wimmin 
folks finds to gad about so much,” he replied in a 
surly manner. “ Don’t know what ye would do ef ye 
didn’t have somewheres to go.” 

“ Everything will be ready for you on the table,” 
she said, not noticing his unkind insinuation. “ All 
you will have to do is to lift the cloth.” 

“ There’ll be nothin’ but goin’ an’ cornin’, while 
that stuck-up chap’s here with ’is yaller shoes on. 
He’s jist the kind a critter ’at wimmin lose thur 
heads over. They ginerally git tuck in, and it’s no 
matter, ither,” he growled to himself, as he saw no 
chance for a controversy. 

About half past four, Mrs. Bartman left her 
house and started across the field toward the home 
of Wash Wiggins. 

“ It is almost time for the stage,” she mused*. 
“If our little plan works, we shall have a double 
surprise. Gertrude may suspect something from the 
tone of my letter; we shall see.” 

238 


The Reunion. 


239 


The arrangement was, that Josh and Dixie should 
be strolling up the Old Goshen, near Lover’s Leap, 
and be joined by Mrs. Bartman about the hour be- 
fore the arrival of the stage. The party was to be 
under the shade of the great rock as the stage came 
down the hill. They believed that neither Josh nor 
Gertrude suspected the presence of the other and if 
it proved to be so, the surprise would be complete. 

“ It’s strange that we should meet you at this 
time a day, since you’re a busy house-wife and 
gardener, too,” said Josh, as Mrs. Bartman inter- 
cepted them at the appointed place. “ We children, 
you know, have nothing else to do; but I thin — - — ” 

“ I am sorry you are not glad to see me,” she 
replied. “ Life in this place is free and easy; we go 
and come when we get ready.” 

“ We are both celebrating the coming of the dis- 
tinguished visitor from the Rio Grande and 
Rockies,” said Dixie. “ Knowing that you are not 
used to such beautiful landscapes as we have; it 
would be unpatriotic if you don’t get from us as 
guides, the best possible impression of Skaggs 
Valley.” 

“ Oh, I am perfectly charmed with what I have 
seen,” he replied. “ I think your little valley is not 
orthodox, though ; it neither backslides nor goes on 
to perfection.” 

“ There, you are quite mistaken,” interrupted 
Mrs. Bartman, “ Skaggs Valley stands on one tenet 


240 


The Vulture's Claw. 


of faith that is quite popular, in some religious 
circles : ‘ Once in grace, always in grace/ Now 
come on with your Rocky Mountain wit/' 

“ Oh, good,” said Dixie, “ You’ll find out we are 
not entirely behind the procession, if we don’t see 
much.” 

“ I surrender,” said Josh. “ Say, Sis, what 
makes you so nervous? Your teeth are nearly chat- 
tering. You act almost as scared as you did last 
night, when Lanky Joe tried to put me out of busi- 
ness.” 

“ Nothing the matter; just everything makes me 
feel good and glad, that’s all,” she answered. 

“ What happened last night ? ” inquired Mrs. 
Bartman. 

Josh then gave her an indifferent account of what 
came near being a tragedy. 

“ You must keep your eye on that man. His 
influence has done more to ruin our home than any- 
thing else. My husband is ready to obey his every 
command, at any time, day or night. He is both 
dangerous and treacherous.” 

“ He’s a miserable coward,” said Josh. “ If he 
gives me another as good a chance as he did last 
night, I will teach him a lesson he will never forget. 
He was drunk, and I did not want to take the 
advantage of him.” 

“ What about that wonderful experience in the 
old barn, Josh, long ago ? ” inquired Mrs. Bartman. 


The Reunion. 


241 


“ Well, I am a genuine, up-to-date backslider, to 
be honest,” he replied. “ Yet, I have committed no 
sins that I cannot tell you about, in Dixie’s presence 
or anybody else. I think I am doing fine, not to be 
any worse than a backslider ; don’t you ? ” 

“ I am glad to hear you say that ; and we must 
help you to regain your lost peace and joy. What 
you do now, is against light.” 

“ I have never doubted that experience, for a mo- 
ment ; but where I’ve been, they work at everything 
else, and no time is left for religion. Look ; yonder 
comes the stage. I pity folks that have to ride much 
on that old hog-wagon affair. Now, you feel like 
you’ve ridden on one, anyway,” looking at his sister, 
who with her eyes, spoke a rebuke for his inelegant 
expression. 

“ I wonder who is in there, to-day,” said Dixie, 
keeping in the rear to hide her emotion. 

The side curtain of the stage next to the high 
bluff, had been removed, and when the dusty 
schooner of the hills came in full view, a girl with 
a pink waist, and a brown sailor was seen to be the 
only passenger. Dixie clapped her hands and ran 
to the road-side. This unexpected attack, fright- 
ened the jaded team, and the driver looked daggers 
at her as he tried to rein them back into the road. 
A steep bank, about three feet deep, was near the 
opposite side ; and it was with the greatest difficulty 
that the driver averted a capsized stage-coach. 


242 


The Vulture's Claw. 


“ Oh, Gertrude/’ Dixie almost screamed, not see- 
ing in her excitement, the danger she came near 
causing. “ Get out of there, this very second, or 
I’ll pull you out.” 

Josh looked at Mrs. Bartman, as the color became 
visible, even through his sun-tanned cheeks. 

“ Now, I ketch on to the little racket,” he ex- 
claimed, giving way to a bit of western slang. 
“ This is the trap you all have been fixin’ for me.” 

A lively scene followed, when Gertrude Moss 
stepped out of the stage coach. The girlish face 
and manners, so prominent four years ago, had 
given place to a mature, beautiful woman; though 
she had lost none of her old-time winsomeness. She 
had known many of life’s severe lessons then, but by 
her sweet simplicity, no one could detect it; now, 
these strong features, chiseled only by the school of 
experience, were apparent. However, she had 
grown more charming; and Josh felt a terrible 
pounding in his left side, when the truth dawned 
upon him, that the angel of his dreams and reveries 
stood before him once more. A new soul came into 
Skaggs Valley for the boy, which, notwithstanding 
the loving welcome shown him, felt a real emptiness 
someway. 

“ Gertrude, I want you to meet my friend from 
the West,” said Dixie, turning to her brother, who 
had not spoken a word, while the crimson had 
deepened in his face. “ He is a little timid, not used 
to meeting ladies.” 


The Reunion. 


243 


“ I am very sure it gives me great pleasure to 
meet your big friend from the wild West/’ she 
replied, taking his hand, and at the same time look- 
ing up into his deep honest eyes. “ I have always 
heard that it was dangerous to cross men from out 
there ; now I am ready to obey orders, and promise 
anything you say/’ 

“ I left all my guns and bowieknives behind, so 
you can rest easy. I am ready to surrender, myself, 
and let you name the terms.” These words were 
spoken with an ease and a self-confidence that sur- 
prised Gertrude. “ Say, this fellow almost ditched 
his train,” he continued, “ and he’s getting mighty 
nervous for further orders.” 

“ Let us all ride,” said Gertrude, “ my fare is 
paid to Wiggins’ station; and I will take the liberty 
of inviting you to share the remainder of the 
journey.” 

“ Get in, Mrs. Bartman,” said Josh; “ Sis and I 
will cut across and beat you there.” 

“ Now what do you think,” Dixie said to her 
brother, as the old dusty hack started down the hill, 
the hind wheels locked and screaking on the gravel. 

“ I used to be struck,” he replied, “ but now I’m 
knocked down, and all caved in, as the boys say 
about their latest sweethearts.” 

“ I have never known many girls,” said Dixie, 
thoughtfully, “ but she is as pure and sweet as any 
I ever saw or ever read about. She liked you, Josh, 


244 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


when you were a great big greenhorn (that was 
what you called yourself), but she will admire you 
now. I hope you will both love each other. You 
can thank Mrs. Bartman for the pleasure of seeing 
her; she refused to come, but when I got your letter, 
we were determined she should make good a promise 
that had been standing since the morning she left, 
more than four years ago.” 

“ Sis, if you had tried for a year to think of some- 
thing to make me have a good time, you could not 
have struck it better than you did. I don’t have to 
go away in one week; my pass is good for thirty 
days, and if she doesn’t get tired of looking at me. 
I will extend my vacation a few days. How will 
that suit ye, eh ? ” 

“ I knew that if she came, we could not run you 
off in one week.” 

Josh and Dixie stood at the gate as the stage came 
up the hill to the house. 

“ Oh Papy,” called the girl,” come out here quick. 
Josh, we are going to see somebody else surprised, 
for he does not know any more than you did of her 
coming.” 

“ Wander what that feller is drivin’ up here fur,” 
said Mr. Wiggins. “ Nobody ever visits us; ther’re 
wimmin fokes, whoever they air.” 

“ I think you will know them, Papy,” said his 
daughter. “ One is Mrs. Bartman, I can see from 
here.” 


The Reunion. 


245 

“ Mis Bartman ridin’ in here on a hack ; that 
won’t do — you’re surely mistaken.” 

Before Wash Wiggins could realize what was 
going on, a pair of arms were about his neck, and 
he felt a warm kiss on his lips. “ Don’t you know 
me, Uncle Wash ? ” said Gertrude. 

“ Yes — yes, course I know ye, my chile. God 
bless you — you came like an angel to us, once. 
Yes — ’course I know ye.” The old man turned 
away, and leaned on the gate post, giving vent to his 
emotions in tears and sobs. Not a word passed 
between them, as this pathetic scene was going on. 
Gertrude turned her eyes toward the crest of Lover’s 
Leap, and gazed intently at the picture she had 
carried in her mind so long. A great tear stole 
down her cheek. Mr. Wiggins pointed to the 
house, inviting them to go in; at the same time he 
turned away to be alone. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


THE OLD, OLD STORY. 

“ I just know the moon does not shine anywhere 
on earth, as it does in this dear old Valley,” said 
Gertrude, the next evening, when they had all 
assembled on the front porch after supper. “We 
don’t have a moon in the city; it comes and goes, 
and if we want to know of its changes, we must 
consult the almanac.” 

“ What if the moon was about all you had to 
look at,” said Dixie. “ I expect you would soon 
long for some noisy street-cars, and crowds of 
people. I am willing to exchange my interest in 
that big bright face, looking down on us, for a 
taste of real life. I am crazy to see things and 
people.” 

“ Sis, I am going to take you a trip across the 
Rocky Mountains, some of these days; see if I 
don’t,” said Josh. “ It won’t be long before I’ll 
have a pull with the fellow that writes railroad 
passes.” 

“ You are not shut up to vague promise like that, 
I am sure,” said Gertrude, “ from what I can un- 
derstand, you will soon be installed in some nice 
little parsonage, or be the wife of a rising young 
evangelist. Which will it be, Dixie ? ” 

246 


247 


The Old, Old Story. 

“ Oh you are dipping into futures, farther than 
the eye can view. Some fair princess may make a 
conquest of my Canaan, before another year goes 
by. He will be a senior, next year, you know ; and 
there is a wide difference between a college senior, 
and a little ‘ greenhorn ’ girl in Skaggs Valley.” 

“ The princess will never enter Baraca College, 
or any other,” replied Gertrude, quickly, “ that can 
outshine my little wild rose of the hills.” At the 
same time putting her arms around Dixie. 

“ Now you have said something,” Josh remarked. 
“ Sis is all right, and all she needs is to rub up 
against smart city folks; breathe a little coal smoke 
into her lungs, and be posted on the way hats are 
going to look next winter.” 

“ Thank goodness we can live lives of usefulness, 
without being contaminated with the tinsel farces 
and shams of up-to-date society," remarked Ger- 
trude, reflectively. “ Oh, do look yonder,” she 
continued, but with a tone and expression much 
changed; rising to her feet, and fairly clapping her 
hands. 

“ What is it? ” asked Josh and Dixie at the same 
time. 

“ Just look,” she said again, with the enthusiasm 
of a child. 

All eyes were turned in the direction which 
Gertrude pointed. The moon had risen to the 
angle which brought out the huge shadow in bold 


248 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


black outlines. Two small trees had half fallen over 
the edge of the cliff, caused by the crumbling 
earth beneath them, which looked in the shadows 
like two great feelers; giving a more cat-like ap- 
pearance than before, not a word was spoken for 
some moments ; too many things had occurred since 
they altogether had gazed on the old moonlight 
idyl. Dixie did not fully appreciate the retros- 
pection that was going on in the minds of the others, 
as they sat in silence. Words had been spoken 
years before, while looking on the same scene, that 
had caused an awkward boy to grow dizzy; his 
heart to flutter, and hot fresh blood to flush his 
cheeks. They were not words of love — or promise ; 
they were scarcely words of hope; but they carried 
an unspoken message which gave birth to resolve. 
Her heart had hungered to make them stronger, but 
she dared not risk the venture. Gertrude took her 
eyes from the direction of Lover’s Leap, and looked 
into the handsome face of the young man by her 
side. During the moments we have described, she 
was living over again the old days in Skaggs Valley. 

Instead of the over-grown boy, who once scarcely 
risked a word in her presence, for fear of making a 
blunder, was a man who could look her straight in 
the face, conscious of a power and equality that in- 
spired a feeling in the girl akin to worship. Con- 
descension on her part was a thing of the past ; now 
she longed to lean for protection, on the superior 


The Old, Old Story. 


249 


soul. The chasm, real or imaginary, which sepa- 
rated them before, had been bridged by the stretch 
of a few years. 

“ This must be a Quaker meeting, or we are 
all dummies,” said Dixie, breaking the silence. 
“ That screech-owl is making fun of us. What did 
I tell you last night about this, Josh? My words 
came true.” 

“ Yes, she pretended that she was just dying to 
see a sight she has seen all her life,” he said. 
“ Come on ; let’s all take a stroll.” 

“ I wouldn’t go over on the main road, if wus 
you all,” said Mr. Wiggins, coming out on the 
porch at that moment; and sending clouds of blue 
smoke into the still night. “ There’s a lot o’ drunk 
fellers over at Jed’s to-night, and like as not Tate’s 
among ’em. It’s done got out as how ye settled 
’im las’ night. He’ll fix fur ye, I’m thinkin’.” 

“ That settles it, then,” said Gertrude, breaking 
into the conversation. “ We will not go over on the 
Old Goshen, this evening. I am a bigger coward 
than ever. I prefer to take my part of the heroics 
from books, in a quiet corner.” 

Josh laughed heartily at her confession. “ Well, 
I will be subject to orders; you always did boss me, 
and I suppose you mean to keep it up; I have no 
objections, you see.” 

“ Come on, Dixie,” said Gertrude, as she and 
Josh stepped from the porch. “ We don’t have to 
go over on that public road.” 


2 5 ° 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


“No, thank you; I am not stupid enough to go 
where I am not wanted. I had him last night, and 
now resign in your favor. You asked me just to 
be polite.” 

“ Thank you,” Gertrude replied, “ for such gen- 
erous consideration. If you hear me scream, Uncle 
Wash, get the gun and come quick.” 

“ It’s a heap better to keep out o' the way uv 
trouble,” Mr. Wiggins answered, as the two walked 
toward the gate. 

“ Here is where I used to make you split stove- 
wood, and keep you at it until I said enough,” said 
Gertrude, as she took his arm and smiled up in his 
face. 

“ Yes, and I have never gotten over it yet, and 
don’t ever expect to,” he replied. 

Just then, the singing and cursing of some 
drunken men, resounded in the distance. 

“Say, do you know what that sound is?” he 
asked. 

“ I suppose it is the crowd your father spoke of. 
Listen, isn’t it perfectly dreadful?” 

“ Do you know that if you had never come to 
Skaggs Valley, I would be in that gang, to-night, 
and would have never known any better? Those 
fellows are doing as well as they know.” 

“ That may be true, but I cannot imagine you 
living such a life. However, no one is more thank- 
ful than I am, that I came here. I am sure, my 


The Old, Old Story. 


251 


coming has meant as much to me as to anyone 
else. Away from the emptiness of religious form- 
ality, in this peaceful Valley, I found the ‘ Pearl of 
Great Price.’ My soul would have been in darkness 
yet, but for the Providence that leads in unknown 
paths.” 

“ I am longing to hear you say something else, 
Gertrude — excuse me — Miss Moss I mean.” 

“ I will not excuse you,” she interrupted. 
“ Never call me anything but Gertrude. But what 
do you want me to say ? ” The glory of the harvest 
moon shown full in her face; and as he looked at 
her, so radiant with lofty inspiration, it was like the 
celestial halo circling the face of a Madonna. 

“ You almost said it just then,” he answered, 
slowly. “ How many are allowed the great pleasure 
of such intimate friendship, as you have granted 
me?” 

“ I do not exactly understand ; I am dull, some- 
times.” 

“ Not so dull as that, I am sure.” 

“ If you refer to what I want you to call me, 
let me say: you have the exclusive privilege. In 
the language of the markets, you have cornered the 
situation.” 

“ Then let me say something to you, which 
don’t need to be said, though, but you’ll listen, I 
know. By your words, to-night, I am made happier 
than I could ever allow myself to even dream. 


2 5 2 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


You have opened the way for me to confess my 
heart hunger. As I said, before, I do not need to; 
for you knew it from the first day I ever laid eyes 
on you. Then I was not fit to black your shoes, 
but it’s ” 

“ Not another word like that, please don’t ; you 
were as brave and noble then as you are now. You 
lacked opportunity. I am not surprised to find 
you after these years, living up to the ideals of a 
true gentleman.” 

“ It has all been done for your sake ; with nothing 
to run on but a little hope, and no faith.” 

“ Have you any faith to-night? ” she asked with 
a little roguish smile. He raised her hand which he 
held to his lips, and replied : 

“ I have more than faith ; I have happiness, and 
the love of the sweetest dearest girl on earth.” 
The moon was kind enough to pass behind a cloud ; 
Lover’s Leap and the great shadow were for- 
gotten. Two souls had launched out beyond the 
land of dreams and shadows, into a realm of the 
real: where human hearts are always thrilled by 
the Old, Old Story. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


GREEK MEETS GREEK. 

What can compare in beauty to a park or cam- 
pus, where art and nature unite for the purpose of 
ornamentation? There stands a rugged oak, a 
monarch of the forest, towering above her highly 
cultivated companions. She looks like a visitor 
from the far away woodlands. Here and there a 
maple, a stunted magnolia, blooming shrubbery, 
and fantastic flower-beds of variegated colors. 
Winding drive-ways and walks apparently laid out 
without a thought of order, but when viewed from 
the bell tower of the “ Main Building ” are seen to 
be a perfect arrangement of curves and circles. A 
thousand happy songsters are lustily worshiping 
the aurora of a June morning; each one with a 
different song, and pitched to a different key, but 
without a discord ; harmony floats and echoes every- 
where. Near the center of the grounds stands the 
trunk of an old tree; the bark and limbs have long 
since dropped away ; but for the clematis and 
honey-suckle that have thrown around it their robes 
of feathery green, it would remind us more of a 
shattered ship mast, than a primeval landmark. 
What a transformation: once in the midst of the 
253 


254 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


“ happy hunting-ground,” she stood a roost for the 
wild turkey, a shade for the buffalo and deer. 
When these friends of the long ago were driven 
back by the march of stronger beings, her sap-life 
ceased to mount to the thousand finger-tips, until 
she now can serve but the esthetic taste of soul 
and brain. The warm sunshine and the variety of 
perfumes cast a dreamy spell over everything. 

What appeared to be deserted grounds, soon 
throbbed with animated life. The great bell sounded 
the call for chapel, and very soon the “ student 
body ” of Baraca College came from every direc- 
tion toward the one center. Everyone unless ex- 
cused by a member of the faculty, was expected to 
be present at chapel service. The morning of which 
we write there were no vacant seats; something 
unusual, especially about commencement season. 
During the “ final exams ” discipline grew lax by 
general consent, and a spirit of freedom possessed 
both students and teachers. 

One of the most remarkable contests in the his- 
tory of Baraca College, was held the night before. 
Some weeks previous, President Benson announced, 
that instead of the usual gold medal given as a 
prize for the best original oration, it would be a 
fellowship in the Philadelphia School of Oratory; 
and the contestants must be members of the grad- 
uating, or post-graduate classes. This announce- 
ment created no little stir, and the young Demos- 


Greek Meets Greek. 


2 55 

thenean voices at once began to echo in the empty 
classrooms and chapel. 

Among the graduates there were but two who 
had shown any special talent in public address; 
both were ministerial students and stood well in 
their class work. Mr. Clyde Hamilton, besides 
having gift of oratory, was class-valedictorian. 
His piety as a young minister had always been more 
or less a thing of conjecture in the minds of the 
faculty; but he was always shrewd enough to keep 
himself in public favor. His family was highly 
respected, and able to keep him in sufficient means to 
relieve all embarrassment during his years at college. 
It was generally conceded that his aspirations were 
to be a pulpit orator, rather than a herald of right- 
eousness. 

The young man who was sure to be Hamilton’s 
rival for the much coveted honor, was a boy who 
had mingled but little in the social life of the college. 
The first three years he had met his expenses as 
janitor of the building, and slept in a basement 
room. 

He had, however, improved so much as a re- 
vivalist, that he had for two years made enough 
during vacation, and a meeting or two in the winter 
months, to live in respectability as other students. 
Being of a deep sensitive nature, and feeling keenly 
the place he occupied in a social way, he had kept 
out of much that was calculated to divert his mind 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


256 

from his studies. During the five years no one had 
doubted the genuineness of his religious experience. 
Whenever it was known that Frank Bartman was 
to lead the young people’s meeting at the village 
church, the students would attend in large numbers. 

Another new feature about the contest was that 
each speaker must have the same subject, and that 
one to be selected by the faculty ; then to be prepared 
without the assistance of anyone or each other. It 
was to be further understood that no one should 
hear the oration of his fellow contestants until the 
night of the contest. 

The speech of Hamilton swept the crowd in wild 
enthusiasm ; several climaxes showed the real genius 
of oratory, notwithstanding the sophmoric style. 
The other speeches were commonplace and elicited 
but little interest from the audience, until Frank’s 
turn came, which happened to be the last one on the 
programme. His voice, posture, and gestures were 
superior to those of Hamilton, and he possessed a 
strong, passionate style that seemed to burst forth 
in spontaneous eloquence. The keen listeners, 
especially the judges, noticed that whole paragraphs 
and climaxes were verbatim as those of his rival. 
Many noted this and thoughts of plagiarism af- 
fected the response that would surely have been 
expressed by Frank’s many admirers. Bartman 
was known to be the soul of honor, but odds were 
against him. Through the entire evening he had 


Greek Meets Greek. 


257 


shown an unusual degree of nervousness ; especially, 
after Hamilton had spoken. Bartman had won — 
but; was it his own? Everyone doubted, but it 
seemed to be a plain case. How could Frank Bart- 
man be guilty? The judges evidently wrestled with 
the same problem, as no decision was reached, 
even after a long season of waiting. Finally, the 
President came to the platform; at once, the clap- 
ping of hands and the restless scraping of feet gave 
place to an almost breathless stillness. 

“Ladies, gentlemen, and students; the judges 
have been unable to render this important decision, 
and beg that longer time be allowed them. With 
their permission, I will say that the name of the 
winner will be announced to-morrow morning at the 
chapel exercises.” 

It was past midnight when Frank Bartman fin- 
ished two long letters, except the postcript, which 
would be given in one word after the anxiety was 
over. Our readers will not be surprised to know 
that both letters were to be sent to the same post 
office among the Ozark knobs. “ You remember, 
Mother, I told you in my last letter,” he wrote, 
“ about the night I missed my manuscript from the 
drawer, while I met with my Sunday-school class 
at the church. Well, I am sure I understand it 
all now. Mr. Hamilton is to be a preacher, but the 
temptation was too strong, and the prize too great. 
Our subject, you know, was ‘ International Dis- 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


258 

armament/ and one day I found a magazine in a 
pile of old second-hand books, which had been pub- 
lished many years ago; in it was an article full of 
strong suggestions, that had doubtless been over- 
looked in current literature. I am sure he will win, 
not because he beat me, but because the judges think 
I plagiarized, Mr. Hamilton’s speech, I shall not dis- 
cuss it, one way or another; it cannot be explained, 
so I shall trust my Saviour who has never forsaken 
me, to bring it out for His glory. You remember 
a very similar story told by dear Brother Carson; 
and how the facts became known, so that the honor 
was dishonor in a thrilling manner. 

“ Give my love to all ; I hope Papy will some day 
become reconciled, and get salvation. I am glad 
you got the good rain ; it will help the late crops. I 
am writing to Dixie, and the one who goes to the 
office first will get to deliver the other letter. I was 
certainly glad to hear of Josh’s promotion; he will 
soon have charge of a corps of men. Dixie told 
me in her last letter, that she believes he is still 
writing to Miss Moss. Does she ever mention him 
in her letters? As soon as chapel is over in the 
morning, I will mail these, so they will reach there 
before Saturday. 

“ Your affectionate son, 

“ Frank ” 

* * * * 

As has been stated, a look of expectancy was on 


Greek Meets Greek. 


259 


the faces of the students and visitors in the crowded 
chapel. Religious exercises being over, President 
Benson looking grave and disturbed, came to the 
front of the platform, then in a penetrating voice 
he reviewed the purpose of the contest; and stated 
that he was more than pleased to see the new in- 
terest aroused in the important, yet often neglected 
art. “ After weighing all the points,” he said in 
conclusion, “ the judges name as the winner — (here 
he made a long pause, while none scarcely dared 
to breathe) — Mr. Clyde Hamilton” 

The expected storm of applause did not follow, 
which fact was painfully noted. The real point of 
criticism against Frank’s speech was not generally 
known. The question was so delicate that not even 
his most intimate friends had the courage to men- 
tion the matter to him. 

“A burning shame;” “ An outrage;” “A bum 
set of judges,” and many other uncomplimentary 
remarks were heard as the crowd scattered about 
the campus. 

“ I want to see you a moment, Frank,” said 
President Benson, as they met in the hall. 

“ I can come to see you in half an hour, if that will 
do,” said Frank : “ This letter must be mailed at 
once, or it will not go to-day.” 

“ Go with me now, can you? it will only take a 
moment,” insisted the President. 

“ Yes sir, I will,” Frank replied. 


26 o 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


When they were alone in the office, the good man 
looked at Frank for some time, and finally said 
with deep feeling: “ Frank, I do not want to criti- 
cise those judges, but you won that contest at every 
score. You lost because of one thing; they sought 
my opinion; I was unable to convince them differ- 
ently. It is all over, and I am your friend — did 
you ever see Clyde’s manuscript, or know what it 
contained until it was delivered last night ? ” 

“ Professor, I knew before you told me, why I 
lost; but, as God is my judge, I am not guilty of the 
accusation. I could tell you some things that 
would suprise you, but I will not.” 

“ Good, and I believe you ; and let me say, here, 
what you might tell me could not strengthen my 
belief in your innocence.” 

At this point, Frank was sorely tempted to tell 
the President what he had written his mother, but 
he had decided, before not to do it, and he held his 
peace. Hurrying away to the post-office, he wrote 
the P. S., and handed the letters to the mail man 
at the side door of the car. 

“ Mother, I lost, you know the rest,” wa'g' all he 
added. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


ACCORDING TO YOUR FAITH. 

Three days after the closing exercises of Baraca 
College, the great building stood like a sleepy 
sentinel overlooking the campus solitudes. The 
college yell, the heated arguments, the youthful 
eloquence were heard no more. Each commence- 
ment means the parting of the ways for many 
students. Most of the boys and girls returned to 
homes that eagerly awaited them; some pushed out 
into various fields of endeavor; and still others 
went out to meet and grapple where life was real: 
and the struggle promised to be bitter and uncer- 
tain. 

One young man remained behind; many times 
during the day he was seen walking to and from 
the college library, but with an indifferent and un- 
decid^ air. He had been disappointed in some 
carefully thought out plans; and his defeat in the 
contest h&d completely changed everything. He 
had had lofty hopes, and even assurance of success, 
but all was over now. Prof. Benson had been 
called away to a distant city, and no one remained 
with whom he cared to confer. In one more day 
261 


262 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


his board would be due for another week. He 
had made it a rule to save the old woman, who kept 
the small boarding-house just outside the campus, 
a moment’s anxiety by never allowing his payments 
to fall behind for a single day. 

A diploma, less than two dollars, a few books, and 
license to preach constituted his entire visible 
capital stock. The young preacher had a few in- 
definite engagements for the camp-meeting season; 
it was too early for this by some weeks; and now, 
in a strange unexpected way, he was being called 
upon to walk by faith as never before. 

“ I can only trust and obey,” he muttered. “ All 
things work together for good — yes, and I am 
determined to believe that my failure to win in that 
contest, and my present stranded condition will 
mean just that, some way. I shall wait and see. 
God can do great things in a day. Three more 
meals and a bed for one night, and I will be about 
even with the world. Well, that’s more than Elijah 
had when the ravens found him.” 

After dinner he decided to take a little stroll 
down an old shady lane to the creek; it was a fine 
afternoon and he wanted to enjoy the beautiful 
June woods, where he could commune with nature. 
Just as he passed out of the gate, he met the old 
colored man coming from the village. 

“ ’D’even’, Mistah Frank,” said he, who was still 
a fixture at the college. They met at the very same 


According to Your Faith. 263 


gate where, five years before, Uncle Zeck would not 
condescend to answer a civil question asked by the 
boy. Now, it was the old darkey’s greatest delight 
to serve “ de young preachur,” who was his ideal. 

“ Where have you been,” inquired Frank. 

“ Bin to de sto’, and de man ax me if all de colige 
war gone ’way; an’ I tole ’im mose of ’em, but de 
young preachur; an’ he say, which one; den I say 
dar ain’t but one sho’ nuff one, an’ dat war youse. 
Den he say, ‘ tell ’im ter drop ober to de poss-office ; 
dar war a ’portant lettah.’ I sez, jis le’ me took it 
to ’im, and he sez, ‘ no sah, he got ter cum his-self.” 

“ Thank you, Uncle Zeck ; I will go down right 
now; glad I met you.” 

“ I war a-comin’ ter hunt ye up ; ’lowin’ as like 
er not, dar wus bad noose or somefin.” 

“ Frank found it to be a registered letter, and he 
signed the receipt card with a nervous hand. 
He did not care to open it where others were pres- 
ent, so he made hasty steps for the privacy of his 
room. When alone, he examined the handwriting, 
but it was strange; then the mysterious seal was 
broken. The first thing that caught his eye was a 
twenty dollar bill peeping out from the folds of the 
letter, and it seemed to say : “ Well, I am in on 
time ; did you expect me so soon ? ” 

It proved to be from his old friend, Uncle Elijah 
Vanzant, who had first made it possible for him to 
enter college. He wrote it with some difficulty. 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


264 

“ My dear boy : — As we ain’t had a chance fur a 
long time to do anything fur you. Mother and me 
just tho’t out a plan to give you a little surprise. 
We both feel powerful proud of you, and knowin’ 
as how long it had bin sence you’d seed your 
mammy, you kin just take a trip home on Mother 
an me. Keep low down at Jesus’ feet, and ther 
ain’t no tellin’ what he can do through you. Don’t 
fail to come an see us, for we are gettin’ along in 
years, an’ no tellin’ when we won’t be here. Hope 
your pappy will treat you all right. Good-by, 
Mother jines me in love. Elijah Vanzant.” 

“ That is just like them,” Frank said to himself. 
Then a still small Voice almost rebuked him ; in the 
next breath he caught the mistake: “Or just like 
Him, I should have said. I had about forgotten my 
faith of a few hours ago.” 

A flood of thoughts rushed through his mind ; the 
many miles that stretched so mercilessly between 
himself and those he loved so dearly, now vanished 
as if by magic. A score of pictures followed each 
other before his illuminated imagination ; the chasm 
of five years was bridged, and the boyhood dreams 
were again like sweet morsels. 

The remainder of the day was spent in prepar- 
ing to leave those dear familiar scenes of his strug- 
gles and triumphs. The few books he owned were 
carefully packed in his trunk, and everything made 
ready for the early train. Several letters were 


According to Your Faith. 265 


written to friends who had remembered him at grad- 
uation, by some little token; but a real love letter 
was written to the dear old people to whom he owed 
so much. “ I can never be able to thank God enough 
for what He has done for me through you,” he 
wrote. “ After a short visit to my home in the 
mountains, I shall plunge with heart and soul into 
my life’s work. I thank you in advance for the 
effort which you purpose to make in recommending 
my name as one of your camp-meeting workers 
for next year. No place I could go would give me 
greater delight, than on that dear old camp-ground. 
I can tell my mother what you have done for me, 
when I see her, much better than I have ever been 
able to write it. May you both be spared to us 
many, many years to come. 

“ Your obedient boy in the Gospel, 

“ Frank Bartman.” 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


UNEXPECTED HOME-COMING. 

“ Well, that’s one job done,” said Silas Bartman, 
to his wife, as he returned from the pasture gate, 
where he had released his team an hour before 
“ quittin’ time,” “ it ort to a-bin done three weeks 
ago ; but I reckon the rain done some good if it did 
put us behind in corn plantin’.” 

This was a strange note, indeed, to come from 
the lips of a man who had grown more bitter and 
pessimistic with the passing years. His wife was 
really astonished; nothing so optimistic had been 
spoken by him since their years of prosperity in old 
Kentucky. 

“ I am glad you are through,” she replied. “ I 
have always heard that any time in June was early 
enough for a crop of corn.” 

“ A June plantin’ is mighty apt to git ketched by 
frost,” he replied. “ Frost-bit fodder makes awful 
poor feed. I look for an airly frost, as we’ve had 
sich a wet spring. I expect nothin’ else but the 
bottom lan’ to all be drown’d out; and if it stops off 
rainin’, the groun’ ell soon bake hard.” 

Mrs. Bartman knew that the gloomy side of the 
man’s nature would soon assert itself. “ I had a 
266 


Unexpected Home-Coming. 267 


letter from Frank to-day; he was graduated with 
high honors. We certainly ought to be proud of 
our boy, working himself through college, as he 
did, without the help of anyone. ,, 

The readers will remember that the letter to 
which she referred gave a full account of the con- 
test, but this part the mother kept to herself. 

“ Well, he's bin at it long ’nuff to a-done some- 
thin’, by this time. Now what good is it goin’ to do 
’im? Most folks that go to college is jist huntin’ 
fur a soft snap. He’d a-better bin at home helpin’ 
me make a livin’, all this time. But there hain’t no 
use o’ me wastin’ my breath, fur his ways jist suits 
you; it’s me that’s got all the hard times to shoul- 
der, though, myself. Boys these days is a no- 
count set.” 

“ It takes much more courage for a boy to do 
what Frank has done,” she replied quickly, “ than 
anything I know of; it requires manhood to throw 
oneself into the great currents of life, and struggle 
against poverty and early environment, making a 
place of honor and responsibility for himself. The 
coward is often willing to tie himself down as a 
breadwinner, and eke out a bare existence.” 

“ That’s ’xactly what I’ve alius said ; these fine- 
haired, high-fallutin’ schools learns ’em it’s a dis- 
grace to work and make a livin’ honest,” he con- 
tinued with a sneer. “ Now, where’s yer Bible that 
ye harp on so much ? ’f’ member, it says that ever- 


268 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


body’s got to win thur grub by the swet uf thur 
face; then they’ll go right out an’ do right opposite 
— Huh.” Here the tirade was cut short by the 
appearance of a young man at the gate carrying a 
canvas portmanteau. His dress, though not of the 
finest material, was adjusted with great neatness, 
even to collar and cravat. His step showed dignity 
and reserve force, without pretence or self-impor- 
tance. He was just such a young man, who if seen 
on the street, the train, or in a parlor, would be 
recognized as a gentleman. Five years of mental, 
physical, and religious discipline had transformed 
the impulsive boy into a grave, thoughtful man, 
capable of dealing with an emergency by bringing 
the full use of his powers into action. 

With almost a shriek, Mrs. Bartman bounded 
past her husband, caught the visitor in her arms and 
covered his face with kisses. Notwithstanding the 
harsh, unforgiving spirit of Silas .Bartman, his 
paternal nature swept away all the bitterness for the 
moment, and the presence of his only child, after so 
many years of absence, seemed to touch his heart, 
and he also joined in the welcome. He could 
scarcely realize that the handsome boy standing 
before him, so refined and so self-possessed, was 
his own Frank, whom he had wronged in word, 
thought, and deed. His first impulse was to follow 
the example of the mother who was so thrilled with 
joy, that words became inarticulate sounds ; but the 


Unexpected Home-Coming. 269 

loving embrace remained unrelaxed. Waiting, 
however, for her to finish her demonstration of love, 
gave the Evil One an opportunity to poison the cup 
that was fast filling up with repentance, love and a 
desire to make full restitution to the boy he had 
treated with meanness and cruelty. 

“ Silas Bartman, what do you mean? ” the voice 
seemed to say. “ Be a man ; don’t act womanly : 
this is your son, of course, but see how proud he 
looks; you know that he has disobeyed you. What 
right had he to run away from home, just because 
you tried to exercise authority that belonged to 
you? Don’t be silly, now, and chicken-hearted; 
shake hands with him, but keep that dignity and 
self-respect due an insulted father. It is your duty 
to show him that time has not blotted out the sting 
of insubordination by which you have been wounded 
so deeply.” 

Frank had not spoken a word until his mother’s 
arms were released ; then he offered his hand to the 
father, saying as he did so : “ Pappy, you don’t 
know how glad I am to see you. Coming home was 
an unexpected joy that came to me at the last mo- 
ment.” The proffered hand was taken by the 
father, but the Tempter had won the victory. 

“ You’re lookin’ well, Frank,” he said, “ ’cept 
mighty pale; ye ain’t bin in the sun much, I don’t 
’low. A few days in the corn field would put some 
culer in yer face.” 


2JO 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


“ I am afraid I would not last long, working with 
you. I know I would soon play out. You too are 
looking well,” replied Frank with a smile. 

“ At the supper table, he told them all about how 
he was permitted to come home. Silas took very 
little part in the topic discussed during the meal, and 
less interest. Frank frequently turned the con- 
versation so as to ask his father some question ; but 
when he did, the answers were given in monosyl- 
lables. It was evident that the breach had not been 
healed; the son felt it keenly, but talked cheerfully 
with his mother about the people and happenings of 
the neighborhood. As the conversation drifted into 
religious matters, Silas became more ill at ease, and 
when supper was over made an excuse to get out 
and away. 

“ Pappy is just the same; isn’t he? ” Frank said 
to his mother, when they were alone. 

“ Yes, and I really think he is growing worse in 
some ways, especially on religion. The ruin of our 
home has been Joe Tate; he seems to own your 
father, body and soul. I am hopeless of his ever 
making a change, while that man has access to him.” 

“ You remember, mother, how we felt that night 
when I followed them to his den and it seems that 
our prophecy has come true, as we feared. I don’t 
know how a change can ever be brought about, but 
God will clear things up some day. Pappy was not 
always a bad man at heart; I can remember when 
he enjoyed his home and children.” 



The Vulture’s Claw 


Chap. 32 






























































l 
























* 


















































































































Unexpected Home-Coming. 271 


“ He has never gotten over Cluckston’s rascality,” 
said Mrs. Bartman. “ Whenever religion is men- 
tioned, he brings up that man as a specimen.” 

“ There is surely a mysterious chain of destiny in 
this whole affair, don’t you think so, mother? ” 

“ Oh, you were always glad we came to Skaggs 
Valley,” said she, smiling. “ When those big brown 
eyes flashed on you the first time, you were com- 
pletely captured. Frank, Dixie is one of the sweet- 
est, loveliest girls I ever knew. I trust you will not 
have grown apart by the long separation. It is 
wonderful how 'she has improved, even without the 
proper environment.” 

“ I am going to confess something, right here : 
do you know I was tempted to go to her first, but I 
did not ; I owe more to you than to anyone on earth. 
A thousand times I felt you were helping me by the 
way of the Throne. Dixie has no idea I am in the 
country, and I will just slip over there, now, and 
surprise her.” , 

“ You will find her charming beyond your ex- 
pectation. I feared that association with other girls, 
and your being so immature, would wean you from 
your little country sweetheart.” 

“ I really think she has improved as rapidly as I ; 
and all things being equal, she has surpassed me. 
Well, I cannot wait any longer. Leave the door 
unlatched ; I may be at home to-night, but don’t look 
for me; I may not.” 


2J2 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


However great the temptation, we cannot go 
with our readers through all the details of those 
two weeks spent by Frank in Skaggs Valley. They 
were days of love and ecstatic delight for the young 
people; they were days of ripening appreciation, 
resolves and plans for the future. The early sum- 
mer sun cast a lazy spell over the hills and fields. 
Each afternoon was spent in long strolls; either 
down on the bank of Sames creek, watching the 
young squirrels frolic, and listening to nature’s 
melodies from the wood-songsters; or climbing to 
the pinnacle of Lover’s Leap and Thompson’s Bald, 
where the entire crescent landscape, stretching from 
the lower ford to the Twin Peaks, rested silently 
beneath them. 

“ Frank, have you ever thought how really good 
our Heavenly Father is to us? Just now, I remem- 
ber how little I have ever done, and yet, I am happy 
beyond words to express.” 

“To live, my dear, as we should, is to love. 
When we love as He would have us, we touch His 
infinite heart ; and the reflection of His holy benedic- 
tion can but make us happy. When His love floods 
our soul, our love is unselfish, and the deep desire 
to love others and to make others happy, increases 
our own joy. I used to read in the Psalms a prayer 
that I never could understand, or appreciate : ‘ Make 
us glad according to the days wherein thou hast 
afflicted us; and the years wherein we have seen 


Unexpected Home-Coming. 273 

evil.’ That prayer, or Scripture, is being fulfilled 
in my case, beyond my wildest hopes. We were 
turned out of house and home, by the treachery of a 
man ; and my father, crushed by sorrow, and full of 
hate and revenge sought to hide us away from 
civilization, and everything he had known. Oh, how 
I do thank God for it all.” 

“ Just think what your coming has meant to us,” 
she said. “ It was your mother who was responsible 
for the coming of both Brother Carson, and Miss 
Moss. ‘ God moves in a mysterious way, His 
wonders to perform.’ ” 

“ Not changing this very interesting subject,” 
said he ; “ but do you realize this day closes my 
stay in Skaggs Valley. I must launch out in that 
overland schooner, at seven in the morning? ” 

“ I cannot realize it,” she said, slowly. " If 
these days could be continued, life would be worth 
living.” The tone of sadness was still in her voice. 

“ Are you not yet able to answer me, Dixie ? 
This evening will be your last chance. You know 
I have been waiting all week. I would not want 
you to swerve one step from what you believe to be 
your highest duty ; it may be selfish in me, but oh, I 
long to have you with me all the time.” 

“ Frank, you know how my heart yearns to be as 
we are this evening together, forever; but I cannot 
leave poor old father alone. It would break his 
heart. Can you not wait a little longer? The 
delay does not mean more to you than to me.” 


274 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


“ There is nothing to do, I suppose; everything 
comes to those who wait, is an old saying; we shall 
have to test it. By the way, mother, said she 
wanted us to share this last night with her. Shall 
we go ? ” 

“ Let us wait here and watch the sun set. Oh so 
many times in my loneliness I have watched it go 
down, and felt that my heart was sinking out of life 
and everything else. I love the twilight, but when 
I am alone, I am sad. This evening I am happy, 
but when shall it be so again? Let me sing you a 
song brother sent me. It just suits this occasion. 
Do you like sentimental songs ? Excuse me : I for- 
got you are a preacher.” 

“ Preacher or not,” he replied, quickly, “ we are 
sweethearts to-night ; sing your song.” 

“ All right; now when you get enough, just speak 
out in meeting : ” 

“ Oh Robin they tell me you are going away ; 

And have come now to bid me good by ; 

I can read every word your dear lips may say, 

By the dim light that beams in your eye. 

My life will be lonely, now you are away ; 

I’ll long for your presence in vain ; 

I will pray for the coming of that happy day, 

When I’ll hope to be with you again.” 


It gets worse the farther you go, and I think that 
will do; don’t you?” 

“ Do you know,” he said thoughtfully, “ the soul 


Unexpected Home-Coming. 275 

of harmony is so often put into those silly, senti- 
mental love songs.” 

“ I don’t think they are so very silly, after all the 
fun folks make of them,” she replied, with a pre- 
tence of a pout. 

“ That is very true ; love is the highest and holiest 
theme on earth. It takes more than skill to compose 
a real song. The world chides the man or woman 
who loves; yet, they who have never loved have 
never lived.” 

“ That is true, and I confess my weakness — see, 
the sun is bidding us good-night. Shall we go ? ” 

As they wended their way across the fields, in the 
gloaming, words were inadequate; they felt, but 
could not express. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


GLEN SPRINGS. 

Our lives are largely made up of unimportant 
happenings ; a story that is not an exaggeration must 
contain much that is uninteresting. During Frank 
Bartman’s stay at home, his father grew more surly 
and crabbed; the breach remained, and the son 
separated himself once more from loved ones, going 
out into another untried future, this time, however, 
under far different circumstances than he did the 
first time. 

He felt a special call to the wider field of evangel- 
ism; but being young and unknown besides, he had 
many severe testings of his faith. The months 
passed by; another summer had come, and with it 
the kindly hand of fortune. The young evangelist 
was called in an emergency to take part in a meeting 
at a famous summer resort, where gatherings of 
various kinds lasted throughout the season. The 
entertainment features of the place were controlled 
by two boards of managers: one furnished a pro- 
gramme of several weeks on the order of a 
Chautauqua. Leading divines, lecturers, concert 
companies, and elocutionists entertained the throngs 
of cultured people who came there from many states 
276 


Glen Springs. 


2 77 


to enjoy the outing; also, many diseased of every 
kind for the medicinal waters of Glen Springs. 
The other board had charge of the closing feature, 
which was an old-fashioned camp-meeting, con- 
ducted by a company of people known to be almost 
fanatical. At least, they were so considered by the 
fastidious, nominal Christians who preferred the 
comic lecture, or dramatic readings to a religious 
meeting. However, men of great power and intel- 
ligence were selected as leaders at the annual camp. 

The burning messages and thrilling appeals, 
though in great contrast to what had gone before, 
turned the current of many lives. The cardinal 
doctrines of the Bible, such as repentance, restitu- 
tion, regeneration, holiness, and the judgment, were 
presented in such a way as to arouse many cold 
formal believers; and not a few worldlings. Some 
remarkable conversions occurred and restitutions 
were made; men famous in political and sporting 
circles, brought face to face with their miserable 
lives of graft, dishonesty, and baser sins became 
alarmed, and when shown from the Bible the condi- 
tions of Salvation paid the full price. In a few 
cases, farms, merchandise, and large sums of money 
were restored. Families were united after long 
separation; in one case a term of years behind 
the prison bars were endured to obtain the Pearl of 
great price. 

The opening services of the meeting were 


The Vulture's Claw. 


278 

thoroughly enjoyed by the pleasure-loving multi- 
tudes, because of the great difference from anything 
they had ever seen like it before of a religious 
character. The enthusiastic singing, the spontane- 
ous amens, the glad happy faces, were all so unlike 
the humdrum perfunctory religion to which most 
of them had been accustomed, that it was regarded 
as a “ Hallelujah circus.” 

However, the mighty two-edged sword of truth, 
wielded by those sons of thunder, in a short time 
produced a very serious impression ; those who 
“ came to scoff remained to pray.” 

On the last day before the opening, one of the 
leading preachers, announced by the committee for 
this camp, mentioned above, was unable to meet the 
engagement. The news disconcerted the men who 
were responsible to the public for making good their 
promises. An unexpected turn of affairs came from 
an unexpected source. 

“ Will you permit a suggestion from a stranger ? ” 
said a gentleman, who had come a long distance, 
both for the benefit of the spring waters, and also 
the meeting. 

“ At a time like this we shall be obliged for any 
suggestion, looking to the solution of our present 
predicament,” said the President of the camp-meet- 
ing association. 

“ Well, I am somewhat familiar with the character 
of these meetings,” the stranger continued, “ as I 


Glen Springs. 


279 

attend them in many different states. Being a 
traveling man, I have had opportunity to hear the 
greatest preaching in the land. In twenty-four 
hours, I can get you a young man who will answer 
every requirement, and sustain any standard to 
which this place and people are accustomed.” 

“ Our situation is a serious one,” said a member 
of the committee. “ We do not seek to hold a 
meeting simply for ourselves; but you see this 
throng of people, and the responsibility under such 
circumstances. It requires the very strongest men 
available to reach the class around these fashionable 
hotels who need the gospel most.” 

“ Your point is well taken,” said the drummer, 
“ but in one hour I can reach by wire a young man 
who can sweep your platform or any other like a 
cyclone. This is a distant state, and you probably 
never heard of him, but if you will let me bring him, 
and he should fail to make good, I will be responsible 
for every dollar of expense. Now to show you that 
I mean business, I will go to the office of the 
Victoria Hotel and deposit one hundred dollars, sub- 
ject to the conditions I have named.” 

Whereupon, one member of the committee moved 
that the “ brother ” be authorized to send at once ; 
and it carried unanimously. 

“ All right, brethren, he will be here by to- 
morrow night, if there is no preventing Providence. 
I will say no more about his qualifications, as you 
can soon hear and judge for yourselves.” 


28 o 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


On the following afternoon, Frank Bartman, the 
young evangelist from Missouri, stepped from a 
dusty train in a little Georgia village, which was 
about two miles from the Chautauqua grounds of 
Glen Springs, and was met by his drummer friend. 

“ What did I tell you I would do for you the first 
chance, old fellow,” said Phil Sharp, slapping Frank 
on the shoulder. 

“ What if you have overstepped matters, and I do 
not measure up to the standard ; then what ? ” replied 
Frank, shaking the dust and cinders from his hat. 

“ I am into it worse than anyone else, if you 
don’t; say, this is a big proposition, and it is up to 
you. If you can pull this thing off in good shape, 
your day of big things will begin. Just don’t show 
a bit of weakness; I have no fears, whatever. The 
greatest opportunity of your life is at hand. Not a 
man ever heard of you; it was all done on my 
word, and because they were in a hole.” 

“ Why can’t I go to your room and be alone until 
night; is it necessary for me to be pulled around 
socially for an hour?” asked Frank. 

“ No, sir, I will just let them know you are here 
and will be ready for the night service. The crowd 
does not know that the big gun will not shoot to- 
night; and they need not know it until the time 
comes.” 

“ They will understand that I have been traveling 
for a day and night, will they not? ” 


Glen Springs. 


281 


“ Yes, yes, that will be all right. Say, I don’t 
wish folks bad luck, and I am not glad that big 
fellow got sick ; but I am glad you are going to get a 
chance one time that will count.” 

“ Thank you, Phil ; I hope you will not have 
reason to regret your active interest in me.” 

As soon as the electric lights were turned on in 
the large tabernacle, for the evening service, the 
strolling crowds began to move to a common center ; 
and by the time the opening song was being sung, 
a great audience had assembled. A look of ex- 
pectancy was on every face ; especially, the managers 
of the meeting. Notwithstanding the extravagant 
statements of the stranger concerning the new 
evangelist, they were much exercised over the 
probable outcome. 

Very few had seen the Rev. Frank Bartman until 
he took his seat on the platform ; then, hundreds of 
eyes were focused upon him. In a calm self- 
possessed manner, the young preacher surveyed the 
sea of faces before him. When the preliminaries 
were concluded, the President of the camp-meeting 
association stepped to the front and explained briefly 
the absence of Dr. Sterling, whom they had all hoped 
to hear ; but, said he : “ we are fortunate in having 
Brother Bartman from Missouri. He comes with 
the highest indorsement; and, (turning to' the 
evangelist) I want to say to you we receive you 
with our full confidence, The hearts of these people 


282 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


are open to you. Brother Bartman will now bring 
us the message.” 

The evangelist arose, and without the usual 
introductory remarks, announced his text. His 
voice was clear and penetrating; those occupying 
the farthest row of seats heard every word dis- 
tinctly, and apparently with but little effort on the 
part of the speaker. 

The text itself was startling, and arrested the 
attention of everyone : “ Be sure your sin will find 
you out.” The introduction showed that the 
speaker was familiar with the art of exegesis and 
interpretation. It was quite evident, as he advanced, 
that it was with difficulty he restrained the rising 
tide of spiritual power and emotion. Herein, he 
was soon master of himself as well as his audience. 
For nearly an hour he swept on with mighty 
eloquence ; the origin, nature, power, and penalty of 
sin became real and awful. Many who came under 
the tabernacle that night to enjoy the “ show,” went 
away subdued and thoughtful. The success of 
Franks sermon that night was even greater than his 
friend Phil had anticipated; and it was the con- 
census of opinion that a wise choice had been made 
by the committee. During the entire ten days, the 
announcement of the evangelist from Missouri 
assured a packed auditorium. A report of Frank’s 
preaching got into the associated press, even to the 
extravagant statement, that the camp-meeting at 


Glen Springs. 


283 

Glen Springs had made a great discovery in young 
Bartman. The meeting grew in power from the 
first service. The managers boldly stated that it 
was by far the most successful camp since the 
organization. The deep genuine humility and unas- 
suming spirit of Frank won the hearts of both 
interested and uninterested. Ere the meeting 
closed he had many calls from various parts of the 
country; but before leaving he signed a contract to 
return to Glen Springs the next year. 

“ Good for you, my boy,” said his friend Phil, as 
they shook hands at the depot. “ I knew it was in 
you ; all you needed was a chance.” 

“ The inspiration of your confidence in me, was 
no small factor, I can assure you,” said Frank, as 
the train moved away. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


IT SHALL NOT RETURN VOID. 

Several evangelistic papers gave glowing reports 
of the marvelous meeting at Glen Springs; the 
young preacher from Missouri, of course, received 
considerable notice as a potent factor in the success. 
As a result, Rev. Frank Bartman was idle no more ; 
a score of doors opened to him at once. His kind, 
gentlemanly bearing, and quiet humble spirit always 
won for him friends and admirers, wherever he 
went. While his gospel lacked many of the mature 
qualities, it lacked nothing in zeal and dramatic 
force. Even those who preferred a more profound 
and sober style, were, nevertheless, thrilled and 
delighted with his stirring messages on the sinful- 
ness of sin, and the one and only plan of salvation. 

. For over seven years, Frank had been pulling 
hard against the currents of life; and had never at 
any time, been able to contribute one penny to relieve 
the burdens at home. Now, the remuneration, 
though comparatively small, seemed like a princely 
income to the boy who had known only the pinch of 
poverty. From this accumulating margin the par- 
ents were often given a bountiful share. This had 
turned the grumbling of Silas Bartman into other 
284 


It Shall Not Return Void. 285 

channels, but it continued none the less bitter and 
resentful. The mother’s joy and gratitude for the 
success and useful life of her only child, filled her 
heart with a continual thanksgiving. 

We hasten with our readers to the next annual 
camp-meeting at Glen Springs. It was with great 
satisfaction that the management announced to their 
constituents the Rev. Frank Bartman among the 
corps of workers. His splendid service the year 
before had left a local reputation among the hotels 
and pleasure seekers of the Springs. 

The camp-meeting had become quite as popular 
as the chautauqua ; guests by the hundreds remained 
to enjoy the unusual treat, even though they were 
not spiritually minded. The hotel proprietors and 
clerks had done much to advertise and induce the 
people to remain. 

“ Your chautauqua is all right,” said the prop- 
rietor of the Victoria Hotel, speaking to a company 
of elite summer boarders, “ but if you want to enjoy 
the warmest thing you ever heard of, just remain 
over and hear that young fellow from Missouri. 
They are going to open up with him to-morrow 
night.” There were, of course, many uncompli- 
mentary criticisms, which did about as much to 
arouse interest, as words of commendation. How- 
ever, the people talked, and there was never a greater 
medium of advertising. 

A larger chorus of singers than usual, was present 


286 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


at the opening, and sent forth a mighty volume of 
music, echoing against the surrounding hills and 
forests. 

“ Brother Bartman,” said the president, as they 
took their seats on the platform, “ you have almost 
an acre of human souls before you to-night.” 

“ Yes, my brother, and I tremble under the 
responsibilities of this hour.” 

A hush fell over the vast audience as the young 
preacher stepped forward and announced the text 
of the evening : “ And the Lord God called unto 
Adam, and said unto him, Where art thou ? ” “ No 
one lives unto himself; no one dies unto himself,” 
said the preacher. “ We are held by a thousand 
unseen cords of relationship; whether we acknowl- 
edge it or not. It is a climacteric day for any soul, 
when it locates itself in relation to the world, to 
heaven, and to God. The responsibilities of life 
consist in acknowledging these relationships; and 
adjusting ourselves accordingly. They have been 
fixed by the high court of heaven, and are therefore 
inexorable. They involve principles of infallible 
righteousness we can no more break without pay- 
ing the penalty to the utmost farthing than we can 
change the character of God. The man or woman 
who presumes on a lower standard than this, is shel- 
tering under a refuge of lies. If we should be guilty 
of breaking one, like the awful law of Sinai, we are 
as though we had broken them all. We owe a high 


It Shall Not Return Void. 287 


and holy debt to self, that silent, commanding other 
self; which, if ignored, will work as irreparable ruin 
as though we had broken the entire Decalogue.” 

For nearly an hour, a perfect torrent of truth 
poured from the speaker's lips ; his eyes blazed as his 
spirit was swept by its own native eloquence. The 
business man who had cornered the earth’s products, 
fixed prices, and manipulated markets so that he 
had grown fat while others went hungry, was called 
upon to locate himself in relation to God’s eternal 
laws of equity. The votary of fashion who lived 
and dreamed only of her jewel-bedecked person; 
and the triumphs she might gain from a gaudy ex- 
hibition of herself, was asked to face for one mo- 
ment the inevitable ruin that would surely come as a 
result for a misspent life. “ Do you know,” he 
shouted, “ those beautiful egrets grew on the back of 
the mother bird while caring for her young? Do 
you know that every one represents the life of that 
mother bird, and also the life of her younglings left 
to die of starvation? For what? To gratify the 
lust of the eye and the pride of life. Queens of 
society, hear me; I would tear those plumes from 
my brow, and never again wear the price of cruelty 
and blood.” The scheming politician and office- 
holder, who enjoyed the luxuries of a prostituted 
public trust, was reminded of a coming retribution; 
before a great white Throne they must account for 
the utmost farthing. 


288 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


The most scathing rebuke of all, fell upon the 
nominal, insincere, hypocritical, wolf-in-sheep’s 
clothing type of religionist. “ The low-down poli- 
tician is an abomination,” he declared; “ the licen- 
tious rape is a stench in the earth; the dishonest 
captain of industry is an octopus, a human devil-fish ; 
the proud, aimless, worthless, extravagant woman 
of society is disgusting to every serious, sensible 
man and woman in the land ; but there is nothing so 
worthy of the wrath of God, and so certain to fall 
into His hands for judgment, as the whited sepul- 
chre, follower of the Nazarene, who lives a lie and 
whose heart is full of dead men’s bones. Where 
art thou? ” 

Near the center aisle, a few feet from the front, 
sat an elderly gentleman, who was evidently one of 
the many health seekers at Glen Springs. His ap- 
pearance gave every indication that he was a man of 
wealth; and showed culture by birth and practice. 
His vitality seemed well spent, but not by age; his 
face wore a tired expression, either caused by dis- 
ease or heavy cares. It was evidently his first day 
on the grounds, as no one seemed to know him from 
among the daily arrivals at the hotels. 

During the first part of Frank’s sermon, the man 
listened in a very passive, indifferent manner ; he had 
doubtless dropped in to the meeting to find a means 
of shortening the lonely evening hours. Near the 
close of the sermon, he became not only interested, 


It Shall Not Return Void. 289 


but considerably agitated; so much so, that many 
sitting near observed it. The hands that leaned on 
the top of a gold-headed cane were neatly gloved; 
yet the intense nervousness was not hidden. 

The discourse was concluded by a strong appeal 
to the people for an immediate repentance and 
restitution as the only remedy for sin. “ I am pro- 
foundly impressed/’ said he, “ that there are men 
and women before me to-night who must either pay 
an awful price for their folly or be forever doomed. 
They have had light, and the restitution must cor- 
respond with the rejected light. It may be very 
humiliating for some to get down at this altar of 
prayer; but your knees must bow, sometime; your 
tongue must confess, sometime. We cannot trifle 
with this stupendous question.” 

The call was not in vain; many came forward in 
true repentance, and bowed at the long bench in 
front of the platform. Among the seekers was the 
gentleman with the gold-headed cane, and his move- 
ment caused no little stir in that part of the audience. 
The singing stopped for a moment, and a death-like 
hush pervaded the place ; a look of astonishment was 
visible on many faces as they beheld the distin- 
guished old man making his way toward the specta- 
ular ‘‘mourner’s bench;” but instead of kneeling, 
he turned abruptly and passing out, disappeared in 
the darkness. 

The next morning Frank received a sealed note 


§ 


290 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


which read thus : “ Come to room 75 of the Victoria. 
I must see you alone. It was I who left the service 
last night. If you are interested in following up 
your sermon — see me. You may select the hour 
most convenient for yourself. Answer by the 
bearer.” 

“ He is a poor miserable sinner, and wants to 
confess,” said Frank to himself, as he thought for 
a moment. Turning to the boy who had brought 
the note, he said, “ Tell him I will be at his room 
in half an hour.” 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


FRANK AS CONFESSOR. 

When Frank rapped at the old gentleman’s 
room, a rather stern voice invited him to enter. 
The whole proceedings were somewhat unusual ; and 
notwithstanding the probable reason for the strange 
call, our friend felt a little nervous. 

“ Sit down, Mr. Bartman,” said the man in a tone 
which showed him quite accustomed to giving 
orders, and seeing them obeyed. 

“ Thank you,” responded Frank, “ but whom do 
I have the honor of meeting? ” 

“ You have a perfect right to ask my name, but 
please don’t do it ; as it is not necessary for you to 
know it, in order for us to discuss some matters 
together.” 

This was an unexpected set-back to Frank, but he 
decided to await developments. 

“ I will say this much,” said the man, after a short 
pause, “ I am a lone man, with a system almost 
broken down by shattered nerves; and my soul a 
stranger to everything but selfish interests. Your 
sermon last night washed away all my foundation; 
my life is a sinking sand — sinking sand ; I saw it as 
never before. Light has come to me, and I am 
291 


292 


The Vulture's Claw. 


determined to carry the matter to a finish; in other 
words, I am going to walk in the light.” 

“ You are very kind, sir,” interrupted Frank, “ to 
speak to me as you have. It is encouraging; I am 
thankful, indeed.” 

“ Very strange, very strange; you are young, but 
I think you can be of help to me. When I tell you a 
few of my troubles, you must tell me about yourself. 
I am interested.” 

“ There is little about me, or my history, of any 
consequence,” Frank replied, “ but you do me great 
honor, and I appreciate it.” 

“ First, let me say,” said the man slowly, “ I am 
what men call well-to-do; and for many years, a 
leader in religious circles. It is not necessary for 
me to enter into details of how I made much of my 
wealth; except, that my methods were generally re- 
garded as right by world standards. Under the 
truth, such as you brought last night, I discovered 
another standard. I am a miserable sinner; worse, 
I am a criminal in the sight of God. All these years 
I have spent money lavishly on the church, and was, 
therefore, allowed to do as I pleased. Not a few 
poor preachers have had to suffer, because they did 
not suit my fancy. I am now alone in the world; 
broken-hearted and out of harmony with myself and 
everything else. I loved money ; I loved power, and 
throughout my active life I gained both, but never 
knew how to show mercy.” 


Frank as Confessor. 


293 


“ Do you live near here? may I ask,” said Frank. 
“ No, I am a long way from home. Yesterday 
was my first day at Glen Springs. A strange 
providence brought me here. My only daughter, 
living in an adjoining state, was in trouble, I came 
to her assistance. Her husband was a banker, and 
it is the old, old story: extravagance, high living, 
appropriation of funds, a defaulter, and last, a fugi- 
tive from justice. My daughter, of course, left 
penniless and in disgrace. She married him against 
my wishes; I had reasons to be afraid of him, and 
my fears were well grounded. My day of retribu- 
tion was a long time coming; the broad acres and 
bank account are like so many galling chains around 
my neck. I have been hearing so-called sermons 
for nearly forty years, but I have been blind as a bat 
to my own lost condition. No doubt if prosperity 
and happiness had continued, a message like yours 
would have fallen on deaf ears as all the rest. 

“ Men high up in ecclesiastical circles have 
looked to me for counsel and acknowledged my in- 
fluence; all the time I was covetous, even to dis- 
honesty. If all my victims were still living and 
available, ten thousand dollars would no more than 
put me square with the world” 

“ The Lord never asks impossibilities of us,” 
said Frank, with a desire to be sympathetic. 

“ Yes, but he demands, according to your gospel, 
restitution to the last dollar. Understand me; 


294 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


much of what I am facing to-day, was done under 
the unscrupulous dodge of the law. My trail has 
been carefully covered, and I have no accuser but a 
guilty conscience. If my days are prolonged suffi- 
ciently, it shall be the one and only business of life 
to right the wrongs that stretch back through many 
years. My life has been spent in honor among the 
very best people; but behind all outward conduct 
was an insatiable thirst to profit by the weakness 
of others, or crush my rivals and enemies. Strange 
as it may seem, I have been successful ; only during 
the past year have I been unable to grapple and con- 
trol every situation. No man has ever had courage 
to rebuke me. Do you know, young man, the 
preachers who flatter and excuse men, such as I 
was, under the pretence of personal friendship or 
favors enjoyed, are our worst enemies, and by a 
law of justice will meet the same doom. ,, 

“ My dear sir/’ said Frank, “ I congratulate you 
upon the bold, manly position you are taking; such 
honesty and courage will, I am sure, bring you into 
conscious fellowship with God.” 

“ I am glad just now to say, it is not a future 
prospect with me; it is a present reality. I was dis- 
gusted with myself, last night, for presuming to 
go to an altar of prayer. I realized that it would 
require more than a few penitential tears to 
straighten matters with me. What I needed was 
to be alone with my Maker; the struggle lasted 


Frank as Confessor. 


295 


until I could agree to retrace my steps and make 
good. That I resolved to do, and this is the greatest 
moment of my life; the blessed consciousness of 
forgiveness is mine. Twenty-four hours ago, I was 
on the verge of ending the miserable chapter, with- 
out fear of God or devils; life was an empty farce. 
Why I have been spared to see this glad day, is 
now a profound mystery.” 

“ The mystery solves itself ; pardon my interrup- 
tion/' said Frank. “ Don’t you see that such a 
transformation will do more to convince the world 
than all the sermons I could preach in a lifetime? 
We break down because of a lack of living wit- 
nesses; witnesses that really put their faith into 
concrete examples. What you can now do in your 
own neighborhood, is as great a credential as heal- 
ing a man born blind.” 

“ Well, we shall see, we shall see. Now give me 
something of your own history. My reasons are 
very personal; you will never regret it. From what 
I caught in your sermon, you have had a hard row 
to hoe; but if you continue to do the character of 
work you are doing here, there is a wide, wide field 
before you. Let me say further of myself : I was no 
worse than the average man with whom I associ- 
ated, except that I made a louder profession than 
some. This world is a long way from the millen- 
nium ; greed and cruelty have far more right of way 
than piety and righteousness. Excuse me, I asked 
you to talk.” 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


296 

Frank Bartman then gave his strange acquaint- 
ance a brief history of his life; beginning with his 
father’s failure and misfortune in Kentucky. In 
very vivid language, he recited the story of Jim 
Cluckston’s treachery — and how they were com- 
pelled to give up their home for a mortgage of less 
than half its value. “ You must pardon me, here,” 
he said; “ I cannot think of those days, boy as I 
was, without feeling bitterness and revenge com- 
ing into my heart.” 

“ Go on,” said the man. “ I do not blame you, it 
will require eternity to efface the memory of such 
an outrage.” 

“ From that time,” continued Frank, “ my father 
became bitter and uncompromising to anything re- 
ligious. That man, you see, was a prominent 
churchman; and had a reputation throughout the 
state. In order to get entirely out of the reach of 
churches and preachers, we settled in a rough back- 
woods of Missouri. He found just what he 
wanted: the most illiterate and ignorant people I 
ever heard of. By and by, a young man came there 
preaching, and his work was having great influence, 
and I believe would have transformed the country; 
but he was driven away, and met his death in a 
strange manner. That was my beginning.” 

“ May I ask the young preacher’s name? ” 

“ Carson.” 

“What did you say; Carson?” said the man, 


Frank as Confessor. 


297 


rising to his feet; but recovered by clearing his 
throat. “ You see, I have kept in close touch with 
church news, through our papers; and the name 
sounded familiar. ,, 

“ He died at the hospital in St. Louis, and his 
body was sent back to Kentucky. His father was 
an old preacher in that state, I believe. ,, 

“ Yes, yes, I see/’ said the man thoughtfully. 

While telling his story, Frank mentioned his 
father’s opposition and the hardships of college life 
briefly. Then he answered a number of questions, 
asked in a casual, indifferent manner, until the hour 
came for his return to the tabernacle. 

“ I am very much obliged to you for this inter- 
view; and in order that you may know that I am; 
take this ” — handing him a sealed envelope — “ and 
say nothing to the finance committee about it. I 
shall be with you in the services as often as I can. 
I am going to test these waters thoroughly; and 
will necessarily need to remain quiet much of the 
time.” 

“ Oh, but I don’t like to take pay for an ” 

“ Never mind, my boy ; that is my first gratitude 
instalment. I owe more to you than I can ever 
pay. Good-by, and God bless you.” 

When Frank reached a secluded spot, en route to 
the camp-ground, he broke the envelope seal with a 
trembling hand ; a bright new fifty-dollar bill, with- 
out word or comment, proved to be the contents. 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


298 

“I wonder why he is paying restitution money 
to me?” thought Frank. “This whole affair is a 
nut hard to crack. I shall try to watch it, anyway.” 

Opening his mail on the following morning, he 
was surprised to find a brief note from his unknown 
friend, which read thus: “Enclosed find $10.00, 
which give to the expenses of the meeting. I was 
called home last night by wire, and will leave on 
the early train. I shall follow your career with 
much interest; and shall hope to see you again. 
Your humble servant, J — ” 

“ The mystery must remain unsolved,” mused 
Frank. “ If I could only have found out where the 
old fellow came from, I would follow this matter 
up ; I shall be on the lookout for him, at least.” 


1 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

THE STORM VICTIM. 

Three months had passed. The frosts of early 
winter had brushed the foliage from the forests. 
For days, heavy gray clouds had hung low over the 
sky; so that when the sun was visible at all, it 
looked fiery red through the chilly atmosphere. 
Weather prophets had given out the forecast in no 
uncertain sound. The long row of Ozark foot- 
hills, stretching away to the south from the little 
village of Limestone, looked ragged and gloomy, 
as far as the eye could see, until they faded out in 
the dull horizon. 

The little town of Limestone consisted of a dozen 
houses, scarcely two of which made an attempt at 
respectability; a blacksmith shop, one store, and 
a large stuffy-looking frame building called the City 
Hotel. The patrons of this institution were laborers 
from the stone-quarry, and a few transient men 
employed on a railroad bridge near by. The drum- 
mers who did business with the merchant, made it 
a point to close out their transactions between 
trains. After leaving Limestone, the road changed 
its course from a dip into the hills, westward to- 
ward the great prairies. 

299 


3 °° 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


A fashionable up-to-date guest was very rare 
at the Limestone hotel ; and when such a thing hap- 
pened, every one in town took due notice and 
became curious to know whom and what concerning 
the stranger. A rather elderly gentleman buried up 
in a fur co.at, had stepped from the train the night 
before and took lodging at the only available shel- 
ter. From the inquisitive landlord, the man soon 
discovered that he had made a mistake. 

“ Be ye a-travelin’ ? ” said he, after despositing 
the small grip carried by the stranger, on a chair 
behind the counter. 

“ Not very extensively/’ was the indifferent 
reply, “ but may I ask what time the stage leaves 
here in the morning for the south ? ” 

“Don’t leave at all,” replied the officious pro- 
prietor, anxious to enlighten the distinguished 
guest. 

“ Is it possible I have made a mistake in the 
place; how far are we from the old stage line run- 
ning down into Arkansaw ? ” 

“Ye art ’ave got off at Shaller Ford; ten miles 
furder on; the hack leaves thar at nine every 
mornin’. Thar hain’t no other train ’at stops ’ere; 
so ye’ll ’av ter wait a day er let my Billy drive ye 
over in the mornin’.” 

“ I can’t see how I made such a blunder,” the 
man said, “or I should have written down the 
name of the place, instead of depending on 
memory/’ 


The Storm Victim. 


3 GI 


“ Bill ’ill take ye over a-hikin’, and you’ll git thar 
in good time, if it don’t come a blizzard or some- 
thin’.” 

The next morning was even more gloomy and 
darker than the day before. A chilly east wind 
penetrated to the very bone, and it was evident that 
a storm was approaching. With the aid of hot 
bricks and heavy quilts, Bill was able to land his 
passenger at Shallow Ford half an hour before the 
hack started for the south. 

“ You’re a-goin’ ter have the toughest trip ye 
ever had in yer life,” said the driver of the south- 
bound hack, as he handed him a heavy robe to sup- 
plement his big fur coat. 

“ Well, I am not very strong, but the trip is im- 
portant, and I must go at all hazards,” was the 
calm reply. “ We shall have a chance to warm 
during the day, shall we not ? ” 

“ Jist one place; it’s whur I change hosses, and 
ye’ll git about ten minits, I reckon. It’s a-settin’ 
in fur a bad spell o’ weather. Like as not I’ll git 
ketched way down thar and cain’t git back fur a 
week or more.” 

“ When the weather is good, how long does it 
require to reach the end of your trip?” asked the 
passenger, as the hack began to bounce over the 
rocky road. 

“ ’F I have good luck, I kin make it by five, but 
ye know that’s a’ter dark, these days.” 


3°2 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


“ What do you call this old road or trail ? It 
seems to be very old indeed.” 

“ It’s Oh Goshen road, and it goes clear down 
t’other side o’ nowheres, past the Ball Knobbers 
an’ all that.” 

“ Old Goshen, Goshen ; queer name ; seems to me 
that I have heard of it, somewhere.” 

“ I ’spects ye ’ave ; as most ever un ’as hearn of 
it.” The lonely passenger soon discovered that he 
must wear the day out, somehow, and that he could 
expect no relief from his driver friend to shorten 
the hours, so he settled down to his own sober re- 
flections. 

By half past three in the afternoon, darkness 
had hastened on the “ wings of the wind,” and 
spread over the wild landscape ; everything foretold 
the early approach of a storm. 

“If we git as fur as Skaggs, by pitch dark,” said 
the driver, “ we’er goin’ ter do mighty well. My 
hoss is a-mighty near pla’d out now.” 

“ What kind of a place is Skaggs ? ” inquired the 
traveler. 

“ One house, that’s all.” 

“ Is that near the valley which is called by the 
same name? ” 

“ It’s jist in the edge, acrost the crick, after we 
pass Twin Peaks; and a little on this side o’ the 
Devil’s Backbone.” 

“ I must reach my place to-night,” the man said 


The Storm Victim. 303 

to himself. “ If I only felt well and strong, it would 
make no difference. I shall walk the rest of the 
way, whether this fellow drives me or not.” 

“ Mighty sorry, mighty sorry, ole man,” shouted 
the driver, above the howl of the winds, “ but this 
is as far as I’m goin’ ter tackle it ter-night. It 
’ll be doin’ somethin’ purty soon.” 

“ Why, can you stop before the mail reaches its 
destination? ” 

“ The guvernment can go ter grass, fur all I 
keer ; this chicken hain’t goin’ no further, no 
sir-e-e. This ole man ’ll let me roost wid ’im on a 
pinch.” 

“ How much farther is it to where — or I mean 
to the place Tasked about, this afternoon? ” 

“ Not much over a mile ; an’ after ye cross the 
crick, it’ll be a plain road, thar’ll be no chance of 
gittin’ lost. I’ll loan ye my lantern, an go down 
an’ show ye how ter git over. ’Tain’t much water 
on the ford, now.” 

Hence, at the close of a long cold ride, with no 
refreshment during the day but a coarse meal, the 
old man started the remainder of his journey. 
Every bone ached, and every muscle was stiff and 
numb. Roads never appear to be exactly as they 
are described; cross fences, gates, and other land- 
marks never seem to be at the places designated. 
The two men separated at the ford, and our am- 
bitious traveler strode away through the darkness, 


3°4 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


watching for gates, and such other signs as should 
indicate the place to enter. Near where the Old 
Goshen begins to wind its zigzag course over Devil’s 
Backbone, he passed through a gap in the fence and 
followed a dim path which led through a long nar- 
row ravine. Far in the distance a light came into 
view; after much difficulty, he at length came upon 
a small log hovel — half hut and half dug-out. A 
flickering light streamed from a single pane win- 
dow. 

A timid rap at the door, brought forth a loud 
“ Come in,” from a voice that resembled a growl 
more than human speech. Obeying the command, 
the stranger was a little frightened by the vicious- 
looking man who arose to meet him; at the same 
time scanning the new-comer with a wicked looking 
inquiry. Near a sputtering log fire sat a lank 
homely woman, who seemed indifferent and undis- 
turbed by the unusual appearance of the visitor. 

“ Pardon me,” said the man in the fur coat, “ but 
perhaps I have lost my way.” 

“ Yer hain’t lost yer way here,” grunted the 
other man. “ I reckon ye’d better be ’splainin’, and 
that purty quick. The likes of you don’t jist kind 
a’ happen ’round these here parts.” 

“ I am sure I can explain satisfactorily, sir,” he 
replied a little nervously. “ I took the wrong road, 
and I am lost; I shall not try to reach my destin- 
ation to-night, but will only seek shelter until morn- 


The Storm Victim. 


3°5 


ing. The night is very dark, and I am in a strange 
country. If you will direct me so I can find lodg- 
ing, I will be glad to reward you.” 

The woman knocked the ashes from her clay 
pipe, and dipped it under the fore-stick for fresh 
coal. She was too pre-occupied in the enjoyment 
of her smoke to take any notice of the conversation. 
The offer of pay pleased the ruffian, much to the 
satisfaction of the traveler. Anything to get out of 
that place, was the issue, rather than seek a shelter 
there. 

“ Yes, sir-ee ; I can put ye on track of the best 
stoppin’ place in the valley. I’ll take yer in sight of 
the place fur a dollar.” 

“ You shall have it with my many thanks,” was 
the quick response. The bargain was made so easily 
that it was evident a chance to get more had been 
missed; whereupon the guide opened the door and 
peered out into the night. “ Yer got ter make hit 
two plunks ; hit’s colder out thar than it was a while 
ago.” 

“ I don’t understand you,” said the stranger, 
looking mystified. 

“ I take it yer not used to our gab ; well — I mean 
ye must come up another dollar, fur a trip over the 
Bald. That wind will split a feller open up thar.” 

“ Let us go, then, at once, you shall have the 
money.” 

“ JVhewJ ” said the rough guide, when they closed 


The Vulture’s Claw, 


3°6 

the door behind them. “ It’s settin’ in fur a tough 
spell o’ weather or a blizzard ; this hominy snow is a 
mighty shore sign.” 

By the time they reached the main road, the fusil- 
lade of frozen snow had given place to clouds of 
fine flakes that were driven furiously by the wind 
which was rising higher all the time. In fifteen 
minutes they had rounded the Backbone, and the 
valley lay dark beneath them, save here and there a 
light faintly twinkling through the falling snow. 

“ Say, Captain, if ye’ll hand over them two dol- 
lars, ye kin let me out o’ this job. Yander ’s the 
place, where no ’un ’as ever turned down. That’s 
Wash Wiggins., yander.” 

“ It was my understanding that you would ac- 
company me all the way.” 

“ But ye see I have changed my notion. Hand 
the stuff over, and be awful quick about it.” Some- 
thing in the man’s voice indicated danger ; and when 
the money was in his hand, he turned and disap- 
peared rapidly, leaving the old man alone on a 
storm-swept mountain, the snow becoming more and 
more blinding. Suddenly a fierce gust extinguished 
the lantern, and to relight was out of the question. 
He ran back and called loudly for his guide, but only 
the mad roaring of the freezing elements gave back 
an answer. The tall pines, around the bosom of 
Thompson’s Bald and down the mountain side, 
moaned and wailed like something human that is 


The Storm Victim. 


3 °7 


hurt. The monarch of the air lashed his steeds into 
a perfect fury; and the bewildered man stood for 
a moment, dazed, before making a dash for life. 
The prospect was dreary : to remain the result was 
inevitable ; to push on against such obstacles seemed 
beyond human power. 

Direction was soon obliterated; the light from the 
friendly window was no longer able to penetrate 
the density with its invitation or welcome. Dark- 
ness had been transformed, and all had vanished but 
a world of snow; drifting, twirling, leaping; 
spreading with rough hands a hoary mantle over 
everything. 

“ If I can keep my back to the wind,” he mut- 
tered, “ until I get to the Valley, maybe I can see 
the light again. The snow is rapidly drifting, and I 
must hurry.” Instead of the storm coming straight, 
as it did farther up the hill, the suction of the low 
ground gave it a whirl, and the traveler was in the 
clutches of a western blizzard. He trudged on; at 
times hoping against hope ; stumps, ditches, and trees 
kept him dodging and scrambling to his feet. Every 
moment the situation was more desperate ; the heavy 
fur coat blown full of powdered snow hindered his 
progress. After nearly an hour of hopeless struggle, 
he came to what proved to be a fence ; now by feel- 
ing and not sight, he pulled along its zigzag panels. 

Another hour and no light became visible to cheer 
his despairing heart ; if the battle continues longer, 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


3°8 

the day will be lost. The fence makes a sudden turn ; 
he sinks in a drift dizzy and exhausted. Once more 
the attack is renewed ; turning the corner, an open- 
ing is found in the fence; another drift encloses its 
victim; the snow is thicker, the wind is fiercer. 
Another rally and a plunge, but he is overcome. A 
stillness is now penetrating every fiber of his body ; 
he knows the awful meaning and rises again. This 
time a superhuman effort carries him a few yards 
further. The small grip slips from his hand; it 
contans valuables, but what of it, when life is eking 
out. A last effort, but in vain; his full length falls 
against a solid wall, and all is over. The fight is 
lost; the storm demons laugh and shout over their 
splendid triumph — then hurry on like a hungry 
pack, seeking other helpless ones to devour. 


i 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 


DEEPENING SHADOWS. 

For two days the storm continued; the light dry 
snow had been whipped and driven by the wind, 
fences, outhouses, and low shrubbery were invisible. 
Fantastic arches and cones, formed by the chang- 
ing winds, were seen everywhere. The white sheets 
of smoke blown from the cabin chimneys, were all 
the signs of life throughout the valley. Food and 
fire were the only weapons available to fight the 
angry foe. Fortunately, ample warning had been 
given, and few, if any, were without the tall rick of 
wood piled near the door, or in the corner by the 
fire place. The poor of Skaggs Valley had never 
heard of a fuel famine. The law of compensation 
abundantly supplies in one thing to offset other 
needs. 

“ A spell o’ weather like this is bad a-nuff, by 
itself,” said Silas Bartman, “ without havin’ sick 
fokes to look arter. Ther hain’t no let up to this 
’ere snowstorm ; an’ tis goin’ to keep me nippin* to 
keer fur the stock and fowls. You’ll haf to look out 
fur the horse-pittal bisness, yersef.” 

These words were spoken on the first morning 
after the man was dragged, stiff and almost frozen, 
309 


3 70 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


from the bank of snow at the kitchen door of the 
Bartman home. It required hours of vigorous 
work, both by applications and rubbing, to bring the 
unfortunate man back from the grip of death. Life 
returned at last without consciousness ; feeble moans 
and slight contortions showed plainly that other 
dangers must be met. After the benumbed condi- 
tion of the body disappeared, a raging fever fol- 
lowed, accompanied by delirium, the fearful symp- 
toms of an advanced stage of the malady. 

“ I am only too glad to do what I can to nurse this 
man back to life,” calmly replied the wife. “ I 
would not turn a tramp away in such weather as 
this; and he is no tramp, but a gentleman.” 

“ That's all you know about it,” snarled the 
husband. 

“ A man of his appearance would not accidentally 
happen in under such circumstances; he has pneu- 
monia, and in a violent form. We may never know 
the mystery, but I shall do my duty anyway.” 

“ It's a purty mess we've got on our han's. 
Li’ble to 'ave a high-toned funeral, and nothin' to 
'ave it with, but a high-toned dead man. Don’t 
'low 'e’ll die though. They hain’t many of his 
gang ” 

“ I must insist that you stop such talk,” said Mrs. 
Bartman, with some feeling. “ I will do what is to 
be done ; you’ll not have to put yourself out one bit. 
I am ready to take all the consequences.” 


Deepening Shadows. 3 1 1 

“ You tell me this,” he said abruptly, “ if that 
feller is all right; why hain’t there some papers in 
his close tellin’ who ’e is? Shucks — ye cain’t fool 
me. I ain’t lived this long fur nothin’. You’ll find 
out some time ’at I know more than ye think I do.” 

Her husband had really touched on the one fea- 
ture of the case which she had pondered in her heart 
without any light. “ I can only do my duty ; if 
God wants this to be for some good, I must not be 
in the way of His plans,” she meditated, as she went 
about her work. “He is no ordinary man; every 
feature shows him a leader. Others have had to 
follow his directions — either for good or bad — we 
may never know which. Oh, how I wish Mr. Wig- 
gins would come over to-day. He is such a wise 
counselor for hard questions. If the storm would 
just let up.” 

Only a part of the frozen man’s clothing could 
be removed the night before. They had made but 
a meager examination of his pockets; all that had 
been found was a daily paper, published in St. 
Louis, some railroad maps and folders, and a blank 
book, containing only some figures. A small purse 
in his trousers contained a few silver coins, in a 
larger leather book were a number of bills; but not 
such an amount as a wealthy man traveling would 
be expected to have on his person. 

It was near the middle of the first afternoon; Silas 
was about the stable caring for the shut-ins. In 


3 12 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


such work, he took great delight; he boasted that 
kindness to dumb animals was religion enough for 
him. The excitement caused by the unusual hap- 
penings, had either brought temporary relief to his 
rheumatism, or such a stimulus that his aches were 
forgotten. For over an hour the furies of winter 
had withdrawn from action; as Silas said to him- 
self: “ Just loosenin’ up to git a better holt,” which 
prophecy came true a short time before dark. 

Mrs. Bartman was surprised to hear a rap at the 
kitchen door, and to her delight met the kind friend 
and neighbor, Mr. Wiggins. 

“ Don’t ye think a man’s crazy to be out sich a 
day as this ? ” were his first words. 

“ Come in, Brother Wiggins ; you are the very 
man I want to see ; but why are you out ? Did you 
ever see anything like this weather ? ” 

“ Yes, but it’s bin a long time; it was the winter 
’fore Dixie wus born. You see I heard Widder 
Squires wus poorly last night, and I wus oneasy all 
day; and when it let up, I jist couldn’t rest ’till I 
seed about ’er. Good thing I did, ’cause ’er wood 
pile wus low, an buried in the snowdrift high as my 
head. ’Twasn’t much out ’o’ my way, so tho’t I’d 
slip by. ” 

“ I’ve wished for you all day, Brother Wiggins. 
There have been many things happened that will 
doubtless forever remain a mystery, but nothing 
more than the man who was blown in on us at 


Deepening Shadows. 3 1 3 

nine o’clock last night, unless his condition changes 
very soon. ” Then she gave a detailed account of 
the whole affair; also, how her husband was mak- 
ing matters more unpleasant by his usual criticisms 
and objections. 

“ What on earth does he mean? ” said Mr. Wig- 
gins, indignantly. “ Does he want to throw him 
out in the snow to die? The man may be a scoun- 
drel, but ’e’s as helpless as a baby. If I can, I will 
come over to-night and set up. I think Dixie ’ill be 
tickl’d to death to git out in this.” 

“ I hope you can, and maybe we can find out 
something about him.” 

Before Mr. Wiggins left, he assisted Mrs. Bart- 
man to change the position of the bed so the sick 
man would be farther away from the cold draft 
of the loose window, and nearer the fireplace. 

“ Well, ye can look fur us over, if there’s no worse 
change in the weather, more’n I see now,” he re- 
marked as he passed out of the door. 

4 1 think it will help to keep Silas straight if you 
are here. I am sure all the neighbors will help, 
night about, when they know it,” she answered. 

“ The news ’ll soon spread, when the blizzard is 
over, I’m shore, Sister Bartman.” 

Mrs. Bartman left the door open while she swept 
the snow out, and cleared it from the steps. The 
pigs were squealing fiercely at the barnyard; and 
a general protest was going on against the situation 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


3H 

by their fellow sufferers. “ Poor things, the shelter 
is not good enough for a time like this. Silas 
can have a chance to manifest some of his religion/’ 
she said to herself. 

“ Look a-here, Miss Bartman,” said Mr. Wiggins, 
returning. “ I stumbled over this out yonder by 
the gap. Now you’ll find out somethin’, shore. It’s 
some sort of a satchel, I guess.” 

So saying, he handed her a small leather grip, 
all frozen stiff, and covered with snow that had 
apparently been blown into the fiber of the leather. 

“ You know I mentioned,” she answered, quickly, 
“ how strange that no papers or letters of identifi- 
cation were in his pockets. He has them all in his 
little hand grip. If we can get it open, the mystery 
will doubtless soon be cleared up. How fortunate ; 
won’t you stay till Silas comes in, and we will 
try together to get it open. It may be very interest- 
ing to us all.” 

“ No, thank’e; I must hurry on; the things in 
thur ’ill keep ’till I git back. I goter look after some 
critters, myself.” 

“ I am going to ask you before you go to help me 
raise his head; his lips look dry and parched, a lit- 
tle water may revive him.” 

Mr. Wiggins placed one hand beneath the sick 
man’s head, and turned the cover back with the 
other. A deep groan from the sufferer showed that 
the disturbance caused great pain. Before the cup 


Deepening Shadows. 315 

was taken from his lips, both arms were drawn 
from beneath the cover, grasping and clutching 
wildly in the air. Mr. Wiggins jerked his hand 
from the man’s head, drew back with a stare, 
grasped the bed-post, then staggered away. “ My 
God, my God,” he groaned. Mrs. Bartman who 
held the cup on the opposite side of the bed, set it 
down and hastened to him. 

‘Why, Brother Wiggins, what is it? Are you 
sick; I never saw you look so strange. Sit down 
by the fire, till you feel better.” 

“ No, nothin’ the matter, I reckon. Jist a little 
fainty, that’s all, I guess.” He then rose and made 
signs of departing. 

“You must not go yet; it will be dangerous,” 
she urged. 

“ I am all right, now ; when I git out in the 
air, it’ll pass off.” 

When the door opened a gust of wind and snow 
blew in; showing that the elements had only been 
taking an armistice and were opening for another 
night’s siege. 

“Why, jist look out doors; I’ll haf to make 
tracks for home, or there’ll be ’nother un laid up. 
Don’t look now as if we’d git over. Good day.” 

Drawing his hat low over his eyes, Mr. Wig- 
gins was soon out of sight in the feathery clouds. 

“ I do not understand the spell that came over 
Mr. Wiggins,” she thought. “ He is thoroughly 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


3 1 6 

good, but I have always felt he was living unnatural, 
some way. Wonder if he saw a resemblance to 
somebody he has known ? ” 

A thousand things came into her mind: the pic- 
ture of a bad character, escaping from the scenes 
of crime; now hidden away from the hand of jus- 
tice. Here was an unknown man appearing; but 
being overtaken by misfortune, was thwarted in 
apprehending the one he sought. 

“ I do hope it is nothing of that kind ; but I am 
profoundly impressed that we are in the midst of 
developments which may startle or shock this whole 
valley.” 

“ Looks like ye could a-got in a little wood, when 
it’s piled right at the door,” said her husband in a 
loud voice, as he entered, shaking the snow from his 
coat. These words aroused the woman from a 
reverie; she had forgotten every duty while con- 
templating the vision that floated through her mind. 

“ Oh, yes, I forgot,” she replied like one being 
awakened from a dream. “ I was aiming to get 
in the wood, but Mr. Wiggins came in, and just this 
minute left.” 

“Wash Wiggins? What in the thunder is he 
doin’ out sich a day as this ? I reckon he is reddy to 
tell ye that you’re doin’ jist the thing; it’d be like 
’im, as it ain’t him ’at’s doin’ it.” 

“I wish every neighborhood had more men like 
he is,” she answered, not replying to his cutting 


Deepening Shadows. 3 1 7 

remarks. “ He was out on a mission of mercy, you 
may be sure.” 

“Did ’e unload a big chunk here?” said Silas, 
sarcastically. 

“ No, he was visiting the widow in her affliction. 
Not another man in Skaggs Valley ever thought 
of Widow Squires and her wood-pile.” 

“If you cain’t see through all that widder bisness, 
you're a bigger dummy than I tho’t ye wus. They 
ain’t no angels floatin’ ’round in blizzards — mind 
ye.” 

“ Silas, your mind is poisoned to everything 
that is good in the world. When we lose con- 
fidence in everybody, it is good proof that a large 
part of the trouble is with ourselves. Your hints 
about Mr. Wiggins’ motives toward Mrs. Squires, 
are as groundless as hundreds you have made be- 
fore.” 

While her husband was repairing the fire, she 
remembered that the snowy grip which had just 
been rescued, remained on a chair. A sudden im- 
pulse seized her to get it out of the way; somehow 
she felt that it was not best to allow the contents 
to be exposed before him. Just why, she could 
not tell ; but fortunately, th e act followed the 
thought, without her waiting to analyze the im- 
pulse. 

“ Why didn’t the visitor of widders stay and set 
up with the sick? Guess ’e’s parshal to wimmin 
fokes ’t’s sick.” 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


3 l8 

To this his wife made no reply, but gave her at- 
tention to the sick man, who was becoming restless. 
Silas had given no notice to the sufferer, and did 
not observe his restlessness; but both he and his 
wife were startled by muttering words, which he 
seemed to be trying to form into sentences. 

“ No — I was — no-o, I h-a-v-e a-11 a-1-1, y-e-s. I — 
k-n-o-w I a-m ” 

Before enough had been said to form an idea of 
what he was trying to say, the eyelids dropped 
again, and for the first time, he fell into a peaceful 
sleep. The night winds howled outside; the shin- 
gles rattled and the weather-boarding pounded; but 
the cheerful fire roaring up between the back-log 
and fore-stick, laughed over the one spot where the 
furies of the storm were powerless. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 


THE ALLIGATOR GRIP. 

Once during the night, the sick man awoke and 
made an effort to speak. Mrs. Bartman hastened to 
turn up the light and catch, if possible, some word 
for which she anxiously awaited. 

“ Where, wh-e-r-e a-m I ? ” he said, scarcely 
above a whisper. “How 1-long has it b-been?” 
Mrs. Bartman bent low over him, as he continued 
his feeble effort to talk. 

“ Don’t be disturbed,” replied she softly, “ you 
are safe. When you get better you will find out all 
about it.” 

“ Am I very sick ? ” his voice a little stronger. 
“Did I get there?” 

“ Yes, you arrived before it was too late; every- 
thing is all right.” 

“ He — said — I’d — got — to — stay — all — night. It 
— was — not — right.” He grew weaker and more 
faint until his efforts to speak became inarticulate 
whispers. 

When all was quiet, except the snoring of her 
husband in a small adjoining room, Mrs. Bartman 
went quietly to the dark closet and took out the 
hand-grip, which she placed there in the afternoon. 

319 


3 2 ° 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


It was a long time before she succeeded in opening 
the lock. It was accomplished, however, by a tedious 
use of an old shawl pin. If she had been a burglar 
trying to secure an entrance to a safe filled with val- 
uables, she would not have been more nervous and 
excited. When at last the clasp yielded, one or two 
damp garments and a large package of papers and 
letters seemed to be all the contents. 

“ I shall at least find out his name, but that may 
mean nothing, whatever/' she said, “ as the gar- 
ments were removed, one at a time. A letter came 
out with the bundle and fell to the floor, the address 
being on the under-side. “ This is what I want," 
and picking it up, she held it near the light, which 
burned none too brightly. 

“ My God," she gasped; the envelope dropped 
from her hand, and the satchel rolled out of her 
lap, scattering the papers about on the floor. For 
many minutes she sat transfixed to the chair; the 
chilly wind came in around the rattling window 
near her, but great drops of perspiration stood out 
like beads on her forehead. She heard the snoring 
of her husband and the groaning of the sick man; 
it jarred her very soul like a harsh, rasping duet 
of discordant sounds. “ My God," she repeated 
again, after a little relaxation of the terrible strain. 
“ This must be some awful nightmare dream; my 
eyes surely deceive me. My God, what does it 
mean ? " The fire had burned low on the hearth ; 


The Alligator Grip. 


3 21 


pale blue flames flared up through the chunks, and 
caused dim shadows to dance on the walls like hid- 
eous specters of night. Mrs. Bartman buried her 
face in her hands on the table; her whole frame 
shook like the old house gripped by the surging 
storm. Then, out from the depths of moaning 
noises, the same voice seemed to bound across the 
stretch of years, “ I will not leave thee, nor forsake 
thee.” The sick man aroused and tried to call for 
something. Mrs. Bartman placed a cup of water to 
his lips, and after one draught he closed his eyes, and 
was soon sleeping more quietly than at any time since 
the night of his arrival. It was with agony and 
travail of soul, that Mrs. Bartman spent the remain- 
der of the long watches of the night. 

Her office had been vicar of the home, since the 
evening she knelt by the ebbing life of her child 
in Kentucky; now, a worse crisis seemed to be ap- 
proaching. She would not allow herself to even 
conjecture on the probable outcome. The papers 
were gathered up and placed in the fatal alligator 
grip, and returned to the closet, to remain as a 
skeleton until such a time, as seemed to be surely 
coming, when it would stand out before them 
hideous and revengeful. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 


A DOUBLE CRISIS. 

The lonely watches of the night hurried by, far 
too rapidly for the watcher. Oh! how she dreaded 
the coming of the morning; ever and anon a chilly 
sensation crept over the woman, followed by an 
involuntary shiver; she felt a dull sinking about 
her heart. The alligator grip was returned to 
its place of hiding, but no lock or bolt would long 
be able to conceal its dreaded contents. Skeletons 
may be kept in family closets for a generation; 
some will not be allowed publicity until the great 
Day when “ every secret thing shall be revealed ;” 
but the documents which rolled on the floor did not 
reveal a skeleton, but a living presence, far too 
real to be kept in concealment. The night winds 
howled and whistled in mocking hilarity ; sleep was 
impossible; the greatest crisis of Mrs. Bartman’s 
eventful life was surely near at hand. Faith, hope, 
imagination — all refused to suggest a probable solu- 
tion. 

Silas awoke at the usual hour more surly than 
on the evening before; after giving the fire a good 
supply of fuel, he started from the room. He 
kicked chairs about and tossed the wood in a reek- 


322 


A Double Crisis. 


3 2 3 


less manner, making all the noise possible : “ I wan- 
ter thaw out ’is froze majesty,” he said, slamming 
the kitchen door. The sick man gave a nervous 
turn of his body, then raised on his elbow and 
stared around the room. 

“ Is there anything you want? ” said the faithful 
nurse, hastening to his side. 

“ How 1-long h-have I been here? Mrs. Wi 

let me see, what is the name?” speaking scarce 
above a whisper. 

“ Were you trying to say Wiggins? No, this is 
not Mr. Wiggins’ place ; but he will perhaps be here 
this morning,” she replied. 

“ I do n-not know — I can’t remember. Did I lose 
the way? The man directed me to — ” the words 
died away with a slight movement of the lips. Mrs. 
Bartman drew the cover over him and hastened to 
the kitchen, anxious to postpone as long as possible 
any issue that might arise. 

There was not a word spoken while Mr. Bart- 
man ate his breakfast. The air was surcharged 
with the potent presence of an approaching dread- 
ful hour, the meaning and consequence of which 
were beyond the keen intuition of Mrs. Bartman. 
Silas got up from the table and went to the f< fire 
board ” in the next room, kicking the fore-stick 
fiercely, sending a cloud of bright sparks snapping 
up the chimney. After filling his pipe with tobacco 
crumbs, he dipped it into the red-hot ashes, and was 


3 2 4 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


soon blowing rings of smoke above his head like 
one really enjoying a favorite indulgence. 

Presently, he called to his wife : “ Nancy, com’ere. 
Pm a-goin’ ter say sum-thin’, this mornin’. The 
storm is over, now; thar’s got ter be a change 
round ’ere.” 

“ What on earth do you propose to do ; what can 
you do,” she replied. “ The man is far from being 
out of danger. It would be nothing less than mur- 
der ” 

“ Shucks, one ov ’is kind would see me freeze 
’fore he’d give me crust o’ bread.” 

“ Listen, Silas, someone is at the door; go and 
see who it is ” 

“ Reckon it’s Wiggins, goin’ to take keer ov iz 
widder, agin,” he growled. 

On opening the door, it proved to be the very 
man. “Come in, Wiggins; speak ov the devil, an’ 
he’ll alius appear — they say. Ye must be out er 
fire, to be pushin’ out a mornin’ like this.” 

“ No, not ’xactly,” he replied, shaking the snow 
from his boots. “ Thought I mought be ov some 
help to you fokes, keerin’ fur the sick man.” 

“ Well, glad ye cum; we’ve ’ad all the nussin’ we 
want. I’m thinkin’ he ort to be moved somers 
else.” 

“What de ye think kin be done, Mr. Bartman? 
It’ll be a day er two ’fore the roads ’ill be broke 
out ’nough to travel. I’m willin’ fur ye to move 


A Double Crisis. 325 

’im to my ’ouse, but it cain’t be done, now; that's 
all.” 

“ Come here," said Mrs. Bartman, speaking from 
the other room, to the men who were talking in the 
kitchen. “ Here, Brother Wiggins, take this chair; 
our friend wants to speak to us." Silas paid no 
attention to his wife’s words; but kicked the fire 
again and proceeded to load his pipe. Mr. Wiggins 
sat near the bed, on which the man lay. 

“ I want to ask," said the sick man, beginning 
slowly, “ how long I have been here ; I have passed 
through a terrible dream." 

“ Two days and two nights," replied Mrs. Bart- 
man. Silas sat with his back to them, apparently 
indifferent to all that was going on. 

“ Before I say more, or ask who my rescuers 
are, I want to thank the kind guiding hand of Provi- 
dence that brought me here. I can remember noth- 
ing since my struggle in the snow; you shall all be 
amply rewarded for this unselfish service." 

“ Let us not talk of that, just now," said Mrs. 
Bartman, looking pale as death. 

“ I am looking for a family," he continued, “ by 
the name of Bartman. Can " 

“ What ? " almost shouted Silas, springing to his 
feet so quickly that his chair fell over on the floor 
with a slam. “ What in the thunder do you want 
with Bartman ? " 

“ Excuse me, sir," said the man, very much ex- 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


326 

cited by this unexpected attack. “ Can it be possible 
that this is the place? Have I been nursed back to 
life again, by the very ones I once ” 

If a hungry tiger had been suddenly aroused from 
his lair, by an enemy, the gleam of fierceness would 
not have been more than blazed from the eyes of the 
old man, looking down upon the helpless one before 
him, his fists clenched and his whole frame trembling 
with emotion. 

“ I may deserve it, but you would not strike a 

sick man ” By this time Mrs. Bartman placed 

herself in front of her husband, but he pushed 
her aside roughly. 

“ Git out ov my way — yes, I’d smash yer head 
as quick as I would a rattlesnake.” 

“ Stand back, Silas Bartman, you coward — what 
does this ever mean, anyhow? ” said Mr. Wiggins, 
jumping in front of the infuriated man. 

“ What does it mean,” roared Bartman. “ It 
jist means that I’m a-goin to drag ’at scoundrel of 
hell out ’o my bed ’an throw ’im into a snowdrift.” 

“ Look a’ere, Bartman, you’re my naber, an I’ve 
been good to yer ; an’ yer on my property, but you’d 
better set down in that chair, and behave yerself, or 
there’ll be more trouble than yer lookin’ fur.” 
There was in Mr. Wiggins’ voice the manifestation 
of a reserve force and courage that even Mrs. Bart- 
man had never detected in his calm sad face. There 
was also a stern command which men can recognize 


A Double Crisis. 


3 2 7 


and are ready to obey. Mrs. Bartman had fallen 
on her knees and was pouring out her soul in agony. 
Bartman sat down and Mr. Wiggins turning to the 
sick man spoke kindly. 

“ Go ahead now, there’ll be no more interferin’.” 

“ Thank you, my good man ; Mr. Bartman recog- 
nizes me after long years, and he has reason to be 
angry; but if he will wait, I am sure I can make 
matters all right,” here he had to stop for breath, 
which came in gasps. Stillness filled the room, ex- 
cept the moaning prayers of Mrs. Bartman. 

“ Shut up that blubberin’ over there,” said Silas 
under his breath. You’d pray fur the devil hisself; 
an’ if it’s fur him (pointing to the bed), no ’un 
could ” 

“ Stop such gab, Bartman ; you’ve led the best 
woman on earth a dog’s life, ever since I’ve knowed 
ye,” said Mr. Wiggins in the same commanding 
voice. “ But ye jist ain’t a-goin’ to do it here in my 
hearin’. Now, I — — ” 

“ Listen to me a moment,” said the sick man, in 
a stronger voice than he had used before. “ When 
I lost my way in the snowstorm, I lost my hand 
grip, which contained all the information. If it 
cannot be found, matters may be hard to explain 
fully; if I were only well ” 

“ Don’t worry, Mister ” said Mr. Wiggins. “ I 
stumbled over your satchel, yisterday and I reckon 
it’s thawed out by now.” Silas Bartman looked up 


The Vulture's Claw. 


328 

very much excited, when these words were being 
spoken, but said nothing. 

“ You found my little grip? ” he asked with much 
feeling. 

“ It must ’ave bin yourn, though it was froze hard 
as a bone ; an’ I know Mis’ Bartman has took good 
keer ov it.” 

“ Well, thank God, I can soon make everything 
plain. Will you be kind enough to bring it here 
and open it ? ” he said, turning his eyes toward 
Mrs. Bartman. Had she taken the trouble the night 
before to examine a little further into the contents, 
the way would have been prepared for the tremen- 
dous thunder-clap surprise that was soon to burst, 
not only on the Bartmans, but with a thousand- 
fold greater force on Mr. Wiggins. Silas looked on 
and listened in dumb astonishment, not even a sus- 
picion of the outcome had entered his mind. All he 
thought or knew was the intense hatred for the man 
lying helpless before him. 

While Mrs. Bartman, with nervous fingers, 
worked at the fastenings of the hand-grip the hus- 
band took his eyes from the owner and flashed them 
at his wife; he realized that she had known things 
that she had kept from him. 

“ I will not worry you with a story of my past 
life ” the sick man continued, but was interrupted 
by Silas — “ No, Jim Cluckston, I could knock you 
on the head easier ’n I could hear — ” when he was 


A Double Crisis. 


3 2 9 


interrupted as Wash Wiggins leaped to his feet and 
stood facing Mr. Bartman, looking almost like a 
madman : “ My God, what did ye say his name wus 
— speak — wus it Cluckston, Jim Cluckston, shorely 
Fm gone mad.” This unexpected turn of affairs 
took Bartman off his guard, and as he moved back 
from the fierce eyes of Wiggins he could not 
answer. 

“ Why, yes, sir, that is my name,” said the sick 
man. Mr. Wiggins drew his hand across his face 
and sank on his knees by the bed, with mingled 
groans and sobs. Mrs. Bartman came near the 
kneeling man and was about to speak, when he arose 
and looked toward the bed, tears streaming down 
his face. 

“ Mr. and Mis’ Bartman, here lies before my 
eyes my own brother, that fur nigh on thirty year 
I’ve thought dead, and killed by me. This is more’n 
I can stand. My name ain’t Wiggins, no more’n 
yourn is.” 

“What! You — you a brother to Jim Cluckston, 
the meanest man that ever went unhung — You, not 
what you’ve been pretendin’ to be,” shouted Silas. 

In the furore they had not noticed the sick man. 

“ Get some water quick, or this man will die,” 
said Mrs. Bartman, hastening to his side. He had 
sunk into unconsciousness, and it was a long time 
before he opened his eyes again. 

“ My long lost brother, thank God. I’ve searched 


33 ° 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


in every city in the union for you, but, of course, 
you changed your name. You shall spend the rest 
of your life with me on the finest plantation in 
Kentucky; and half of all I have is yours, God spar- 
ing me to make the deeds. This is wonderful! be- 
yond all we can ask or think.” Silas had left 
the room. “ Where is Mr. Bartman ? I have come 
all the way seeking the man I had robbed to make 
restitution to him in person. Where is he? The 
deed to his farm is in that grip, and it is recorded 
in his name. God has saved me from a long life 
of hypocrisy and dishonesty. Call Mr. Bartman 
here, I will wait — ” At the earnest entreaty of 
Mrs. Bartman, Silas returned to the room; a look 
of hate and murder on every line of his countenance. 
“ Take this, Mr. Bartman; it’s a clear title to your 
little farm in Kentucky, free from every encum- 
brance, with the compliments of Colonel Jim Cluck- 
ston, whom God has redeemed under the faithful 
ministry of Rev. Frank Bartman, the boy I came 
within an inch of shooting the day I carelessly ran 
over his wheelbarrow. This is no delusion, I came 
this long, hard trip to deliver it in person.” 

Silas Bartman staggered to a chair, where he sat 
for a long time as if in a trance. 

“ Frank’s preachin’, Frank’s preachin’ — my boy 
— my only boy — an’ I’ve treated ’im meaner than a 
dog. I’m meaner, right now, than — than — ever I 
thought Jim Cluckston wus.” He held the neatly 


( 


A Double Crisis. 


33 1 


folded document in his hand, and if it had been a 
hot iron it could not have burnt him more than the 
consciousness of his mean, hateful life that was 
filling his soul with flames of remorse. The ticking 
of a clock and the crackling hickory fore-stick was 
all that disturbed the silence for some time. Then 
he stammered out a confession. “ Look a-here all 
ov ye, I jist want ter say — that I’m the meanest 
white man — I am jist — : — ” 

“ Please don’t say any more, Mr. Bartman. We 
can all see life in a clearer way. My own brother 
was wronged by me, long years ago. Even before 
I met my insulted Lord, I was anxious to undo that 
past. This is a great day for us all.” 

The still small Voice was gently whispering to 
Mrs. Bartman; and as usual her soul was aflame 
with gratitude and praise. 


CHAPTER XL. 


A SABBATH DAY AND MORE. 

The warm south winds blew gently through the 
shaggy tops of the old locust trees leading from the 
house to the pike; the faint seolian strains made 
melancholy music. It was early spring, the peach 
orchard behind the barn blushed in beauty like a 
pink-tinted cloud, burnished by the setting sun. The 
Easter flowers and johnny- jump-ups sprinkled the 
fresh green spots with white and blue; the robin 
chirped and whistled merrily to his mate as they 
frolicked about in search of a place to begin the 
responsibilities of rearing a family. The sun had 
driven away the early morning mists, and not one 
object marred the perfect harmony of that Kentucky 
landscape. 

“ Nancy, I want ye to fix the best dinner ’at ye 
ever cooked in all yer life. I’ve jist bin out to the 
pike fixin’ the gap, and Brother Cluckston passed 
goin’ to Sunday School, and he’s promised to come 
home with us fur dinner.” 

Our readers will recognize the voice, but not 
the speaker. It was the same voice but not the same 
speaker, not the same accent; it vibrated on the 
same low key, but all the rough breathings had be- 
332 


A Sabbath Day and More. 333 


come as soft and gentle as the spring zephyrs steal- 
ing through the open windows. 

“ I am so glad that you thought to ask him; and 
if Brother Swanson has not promised to go with 
some one else, we will have him come too,” replied 
the wife, her face the picture of happiness. 

“ Do you know, Nancy, this whole thing seems 
so kinder unreal like, that I got ter pinch mysef, 
ever, now an’ then, jist to see if it’s sure ’nough me. 
Silas Bartman gettin’ ready fur meetin’ on Sunday 
morning an goin’ to thur same meetin’ house with 
Jim Cluckston on Shugartown pike. When the 
Saviour got Lazeris up out ’n the grave, He didn’t 
do no bigger thing than when He got this mess all 
straightened out, an’ me, specilly.” 

“ The way has surely been very dark, sometimes, 
Silas; but by faith in the One who came into my 
heart that evening, long ago, when I kneeled by 
our darling baby, has never been shaken. I was 
not sure that I would ever live to see and under- 
stand all, but I knew that a kind, loving Hand was 
somehow guiding ” 

“And say,” interrupted her husband, “ he tells 
me ’at Wash and Dixie ’ill be here in a little over 
a week. He’s all closed out, and the fokes in Skaggs 
believes he’s goin’ away som’ers to be where Josh 
is. It’s all bin worked fine.” 

“ Do you know that it’s nearly time we were 
starting,” she remarked, quickly, looking at the 


334 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


clock. “ Hitch up right away. I never like to be 
late at church.” 

“All right — guess I’d better; it’ll be preachin’ 
time when we git thar.” 

As they jogged along the pike toward Old Mt. 
Zion, many ugly pictures came up before the man, 
and no doubt many sad ones before the mind of his 
wife. 

“ I’m powerful glad Jake Moss ain’t livin’ down 
thar, no more,” remarked Silas, casually. “ They 
say his boy run off, an’ his wife natcherally died 
frum a broken heart; an he’s livin’ in Louisville 
with his gurl an runnin’ a saloon as usual.” 

“ He was a curse to this country from the first 
day he came,” said Mrs. Bartman. 

“ I hear ’em say, ’at he’s in mighty poor health ; 
goin’ down all the time with consumshion. ’Taint 
no wonder.” 

“ Silas, let us not talk of that man, to-day ; we 
are on our road to church, and it is as much a duty 
to be prepared in mind and heart to hear the gospel, 
as it is to go to church. We have at last escaped 
from the downfall which he had so much to do in 
bringing about, and I’m too glad to let the memory 
of it mar a day like this.” 

“ All right — all right, I’m willin’. 

At the close of the sermon, the minister gave an 
invitation for any who had Saving Faith, to unite 
with the church. Silas and Nancy Bartman became 


A Sabbath Day and More. 335 


members of Mt. Zion, that day in due form, and 
were welcomed by many of their old neighbors with 
the usual “ right hand of fellowship. 

Just as the pastor raised his hand, a signal for 
the congregation to arise for the benediction, a voice 
interrupted him : “ Excuse me, Brother Swanson, 
you forgot that announcement.” It was Colonel Jim 
Cluckston who spoke. 

“ Certainly,’' said he, “ I am glad you mentioned 
it. I am very much gratified indeed, to welcome 
Brother and Sister Bartman among us; and it af- 
fords me great pleasure to announce that on two 
weeks from to-day, their son, Rev. Frank Bart- 
man, the evangelist, will preach for you. He grew 
up, I understand, a little boy in this neighborhood, 
and I bespeak for him a Christian welcome and a 
good hearing.” It proved that neither Frank nor 
the congregation were disappointed. 


CHAPTER XLI. 


THE MISTS ROLLED AWAY. 

All that was known of the happenings at Colonel 
Jim Cluckston’s plantation, was that some months 
before, he had gone out West and arranged with a 
brother who “ hadn’t much family ” to take charge 
of things, as the colonel was failing in health. 
Colonel Cluckston had located on Sugartown pike 
at the close of the war, and had come from a distant 
part of the state; not even his intimate friends 
knowing anything of his former home or people, 
except that he was born in Virginia. 

His brother, Wash, kept in the background and 
looked after his duties; the public seeing but little of 
him. The quiet cautious habits of so many years 
were not easily broken. No one ever found out 
exactly from what part of the country he had hailed ; 
the neighbors knew Colonel Cluckston well enough 
to understand that what he wanted them to find out 
concerning his affairs, he would not hesitate to tell 
them; hence* there was doubtless much curiosity, 
but it ended there. 

We are now ready to introduce to our readers, 
Miss Dixie Cluckston ; the name sounds strange 
and awkward, and to no one more than Dixie her- 

33 6 


The Mists Rolled Away. 337 


self. She was deeply embarrassed not a few times, 
when she would forget just who she was, and 
stumble back to the old name, but the blushes only 
added to her charms ; the mystery that surged 
through her soul caused the sweet confiding nature 
to be kept in reserve from all of her many new 
friends. 

Dixie was now a mature young woman, and 
though she had known only the wild, free life of 
the hills, every art of toilet and decorum found in 
books and magazines had been studied carefully and 
mastered. The bushy brown curls which gave back- 
ground to the round red cheeks and laughing eyes 
of Dixie Wiggins, *the afternoon the pink bonnet 
opened the little boate with Cupid, and from which 
wound Frank Bartman never recovered, now gave 
the graceful curves of her face and neck such re- 
fined and clear-cut outlines, that Gibson's Ameri- 
can Girl had not a single point of advantage. There 
were very few among her lady acquaintances who 
did not cherish a secret envy, owing to her unusual 
beauty, notwithstanding her winsomeness ; the young 
men became rivals of one another, but no one 
seemed to have the best chance in the race. The 
charm of her personality was all the stronger, be- 
cause it was a$ unconscious power; Dixie had not 
been educated in the school of social flattery, where 
one is continually reminded of pretty hands, eyes, 
lips, feet, neck, ankles, etc.; therefore, whenever 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


33 8 

the colonel’s niece was seen in public the high- 
blooded youths of Kentucky would catch their 
breath and look bewildered, just as did the uncouth 
swains in the far away Missouri hills. Any one 
of the dozen of the wealthiest boys in the Sugar- 
town Valley was ready to swear off drinking, join 
the church, or fight a duel, if it could mean gaining 
favor with the beautiful daughter of Col. Jim 
Cluckston’s brother. 

Our readers will doubtless be curious to know how 
the extraordinary revelations, which brought Dixie 
into this new environment, were first made known 
to her back in Skaggs Valley; how her father could 
confess the double life he had been living so long. 
It will be remembered that he did confide all of his 
terrible past to the young preacher in the dark cav- 
ern of Lover’s Leap. 

After a long conference, on the morning that Col. 
Cluckston’s identity became known, Mrs. Bartman 
was detailed to tell Dixie all about what had hap- 
pened; this she did on the first good day after the 
“weather settled.” We can scarcely imagine the 
effect of such news, which was stranger than any 
fiction she had ever read, on a bright ambitious 
girl who had known but the most obscure environ- 
ment. The thought that she was no longer Dixie 
Wiggins; and that in the near future she must ad- 
just herself to a new name, a new world, and a new 
people — shivered its way to her heart, and she said 
she felt like one risen from the dead. 


The Mists Rolled Away. 339 


“ Thank goodness, once, for Skaggs Valley and 
her people,” said Dixie, to Mrs. Bartman, when the 
whole truth dawned on her mind, “ this thing could 
not be worked without publicity and scandal, any- 
where else on earth.” 

“ Don’t you think, Dixie, that it would be best not 
to let Josh know anything about it, until we all gelt 
away? If he were only here we could tell him 
much better than we could explain by letter.” 

“ How long do you think it will be before we can 
sing Old Kentucky Home, sure ’nough? Do you 
know that Josh had another promotion, and from 
the tone of his letter, I think he and Gertrude are 
going to marry, He did not say so, but I am almost 
sure of it.” 

“ I am not surprised to hear that,” answered 
Mrs. Bartman, “ because two sensible people met, 
when Josh and Gertrude got acquainted; but they 
must know all about this before then. They must 
not get married by the wrong name. Her school 
does not close until May.” 

“ When folks want to get married they don’t 
let a small thing like a school hinder,” laughed Dixie. 

“ Let me see ; suppose we write and tell him to 
come home at once, and make it so important that 
he will be obliged to do so,” Mrs. Bartman said, 
after some reflection. 

This was the plan agreed upon, and on the day 
before Col. Jim Cluckston started for his home 


34o 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


in Kentucky, he had the pleasure of seeing, as he 
acknowledged, the finest specimen of manhood he 
had ever met : his nephew, Mr. Josh Wiggins 
Cluckston. 

The startling story which was poured into the 
young man’s ears, set brain, heart, and emotions 
thumping ; until he said he “ got dizzy, scared, burnt 
up and froze, all at the same time.” Dixie failed 
to learn anything definite concerning the approach- 
ing nuptials, but they all found out that he went 
back to his surveying corps by way of St. Louis. 






CHAPTER XLII. 


THE MISTS ROLLED IN SPLENDOR. 

The last service Colonel Cluckston attended at 
Mt. Zion was the Sunday on which Frank Bartman 
preached to the delight and edification of all who 
heard him. One scene occurred that morning, which 
will interest our readers: it was the young man’s 
father listening to every word, with upturned face 
and cheeks wet with tears, as the manly son de- 
livered a touching sermon on the “ Hidden Manna 
and White Stone.” The whole audience was melted 
and subdued; and the two men whose lives had 
been so far apart by the ravages of sin were united 
in holy fellowship; it was a feast to Silas Bart- 
man and Colonel Cluckston. 

Frank spent two weeks at home, but we shall 
not be surprised to know that the greater part of 
the time was given to the “ loved ones ” beyond the 
creek ; there were real attractions at the elegant home 
and spacious grounds of the Cluckston plantation. 
The admiration which Dixie’s uncle had at first 
formed for the young man, as we remember, soon 
ripened into a fondness. When he would see them 
strolling about the yard, or from his window watch 
them swinging in the hammock, so happy in each 
34i 


342 


The Vulture's Claw. 


other’s company, the old man felt his heart enlarge 
with satisfaction and thanksgiving. “ He is the 
only man I ever met,” he would murmur to himself, 
“ who is worthy of that precious girl.” 

“ Uncle, are you glad that Frank is a preacher? ” 
Dixie asked him one day, after he had gone. 

“ I would not have him anything else for the 
wealth of this state, my child; “ but he shall never 
be limited in opportunities of advancement, because 
of the meager income of that high calling — I owe 
everything which I now enjoy to that boy.” 

The summer days, glorious and beautiful, had 
fully come ; the sturdy planters were in the midst of 
a bountiful harvest. It was quite obvious that Col- 
onel Cluckston was failing rapidly; he could no 
longer read his mail and the many religious and 
secular papers which came weekly. This task Dixie 
gladly performed for him each morning. She 
would first read the headings in the papers, and 
from these her uncle selected such items as he cared 
to hear. In the Courier-Journal list one morning, 
she read : “ Jake Moss’s Will.” 

“ Read that,” he interrupted. 

“ Do you know him, Uncle Jim? ” 

“ I most surely do,” he replied, with a tone of 
sadness. 

Among the items of the published will was five 
thousand dollars, left to a niece, a dead brother’s 
only child — her whereabouts unknown. This money 


The Mists Rolled in Splendor. 343 


was to be kept in trust by the court for five years, 
and at the expiration of that time, if the relative 
could not be found, it should be given to an orphan’s 
home in Louisville. 

“Jim,” called the colonel from his window, 
“ come here.” 

“ Ye’ Sah,” answered the darkey, who was pass- 
ing by at that time. 

“ Do you know where Rufus Bagley lives, five 
miles down the creek ? ” 

“ I knows ’bout whar.” 

“ Go over there and tell him to come and see me 
at once.” 

Ye’ Sah.” 

“ You may go now, daughter,” said the colonel, 
speaking to his niece, “ I want to talk to you again, 
after I see Bagley.” 

Dixie went away wondering what this strange 
conduct of her uncle could mean. “ Well,” she 
thought, “ I am not going to be surprised at any 
thing, any more.” 

Near the middle of the afternoon, Rufus Bagley 
presented himself on the front porch, where the 
colonel was resting in a large folding chair. After 
the usual greetings, Colonel Cluckston went straight 
to the main subject for which he had called Bagley. 

“ Rufus, how long have you known Jake Moss? 
You knew he was dead ? ” 

“ Dead, Jake Moss, my, no — I’ve knowd ’im 
alius, nearly.” 


344 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


“ Did you know his brother. Bill ? ” 

“ Yes, an’ as Jake’s dead, I ain’t afeered ter say 
it — lots thought ’at Jake killed Bill.” 

“ Did Bill leave any children? ” 

“ Yes, a baby girl.” 

“ What became of the child ? ” 

“ When Jake left the mountains, he give the little 
’un to Jeems Rogers, who went West; I hain’t 
he-ard nothin’ since.” 

“ Do you know how long that has been ? ” 

“ It ’us the fall of ’67, as I remembers ” 

“ All right, Rufus, I am obliged to you,” tossing 
him a silver dollar. 

“ Dixie,” he called, as soon as Rufus had disap- 
peared down the walk. 

“ Yes, Uncle Jim, what can I do for you? ” 

“ Write to that Miss Moss friend, and tell her to 
send us everything she knows about herself; give 
the man’s name who put her in the home, and any 
pictures she may have. Tell her to do it by return 
mail. Don’t let on anything you know or think: 
just say that I am hunting up some matters con- 
cerning a mountain family I once knew.” 

“ I think she and Josh are coming to see us, as 
soon as we could hear from her. Josh is in St. 
Louis, now; I can tell her to bring all her belong- 
ings.” 

Two days later, Col. Jim Cluckston’s attorney 
spent several hours with him in the library; besides 


The Mists Rolled in Splendor. 345 

arranging all of his own private matters, with him, 
he gave the facts concerning the lost niece of Jake 
Moss. 

* ***** * 

One week after the attorney had visited him, the 
colonel’s condition took a very abrupt turn for the 
worse. Several times each day, he became uncon- 
scious; these seasons of apparent paralysis came 
more frequently and were of longer duration. It 
was quite obvious that the end could not be far 
away. Josh and Gertrude were expected any day; 
Frank had been notified by wire to come on the 
first train. They all came, but too late for the old 
man to recognize them. The nurse had told the 
family that it was not necessary to keep the room 
quiet, as the sufferer would not be disturbed by 
noise about him. The soul seemed to have slipped 
away from the body, leaving the tenement of clay 
to silently fold its own tent. His daughter, living 
in a distant state, was unable to come; but others 
who were bound to him by ties of blood, and even 
stronger, stood around the bedside, watching a 
life so long crowded with stirring events, lift anchor 
and put out to sea. 

Every one of our friends, now sustaining such 
new and blessed relationship to the dying man, had 
gathered for the death-watch; not to be the watch 
over a doomed criminal, but the triumphant depart- 
ure of a nobleman. The left hand with its strange 


The Vulture's Claw. 


346 

deformity, pushed from under the cover, Mrs. Bart- 
man placed the sheet over it quickly. This ex- 
traordinary birth-mark opened and closed nervously, 
as of old, but no longer with the grasp of a claw ; 
since the crisis at Glen Springs, its openings 
had been typical of beneficence and benedictions 
showered lavishly in every direction; its closings, 
the encircling of a loving arm around every wrong 
of the past. The frail bark was fast putting out 
from shore, to meet no dark angry waves, but a glad 
morning lighted up with a glorious shimmer, re- 
flected by the Sun of Righteousness. 

Warm rays from the setting sun came through 
the open window and fell across the sleeper’s face, 
giving a radiance that could have been taken for 
a halo. His eyes opened; every one pressed close 
to catch if possible any word or sign, but he saw 
them not; a dull glassy stare looked beyond the 
veil which hides the future and a half uttered sound 
came from the parched lips — but it was not the harsh 
expression of fear or despair; it was a note of praise. 
A lingering smile played about the mouth as the 
eyelids slowly shut out all that was earthly. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 


after long waiting. 

It was near noon when the passenger train 
slowed up at Boggsville, a little town in one of the 
counties of southern Kentucky. The large cedar 
box was carefully lifted from the baggage car and 
deposited on the platform. Detailed instructions had 
been given by the colonel, to his brother. Wash, 
touching all he wished done concerning his funeral. 
This meant that Wash Cluckston was once more to 
see the haunts of his childhood; as the family grave- 
yard, where his father and mother were buried, was 
but a short distance from their boyhood home. 

The undertaker at Sugartown had arranged for 
hearse and carriages to meet and convey the party 
direct to the scene of interment. The pastor, 
Brother Swanson, held a simple service at the home 
for the benefit of the neighbors, and was then asked 
to join the party, consisting of Mr. and Mrs. 
Bartman; Frank, Dixie, Josh, and his father, and 
Gertrude, to conduct the final obsequies. 

Imagine the emotions of Wash Cluckston, as his 
eye swept a landscape which he had not seen for so 
many long eventful years; also the memory of the 
dreadful circumstances under which he had gone 
347 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


348 

away. As the funeral procession moved slowly 
along the old lane, pictures of his early life came 
up like so many spectres from the dead. 

When the pastor had concluded the grave ritual, 
“ earth to earth ; ashes to ashes ; dust to dust,” and 
the little ridge of clay was covered with a score 
or more of beautiful floral designs; the party stood 
in a circle, silently viewing the last resting-place of 
the man who had wrought a transformation among 
them, more wonderful than legendary lore; more 
wonderful because it was real. 

“ By the way, friends, I am reminded of some- 
thing that may be of interest to you all,” said the 
Rev. Mr. Swanson. “ This is the same place where 
our young preacher, who had such a strange experi- 
ence in the mountains of Missouri, was buried. I 
believe you all are from that state.” 

“ What, you don’t mean Brother Carson, do 
you?” said Frank, very much excited. 

“ That is who I surely mean. Did you all know 
him?” 

“ Let us find that grave at once,” said he, not 
waiting to answer the minister’s question. After 
some searching, they found a little unpretentious 
stone, at the head of a sunken, unkept grave. There 
it was, without a doubt : “ Rev. Thos. Carson,” 
followed by dates and other markings. At the bot- 
tom of the stone, carved in small italics, were these 
words : “ Here till Jesus comes.” Silas Bartman 


After Long Waiting. 


349 


dropped on his knees, clasped the stone, and sobbed 
loudly: “ My God, how can I stand this?” Not 
a word was spoken; everyone knew the cause of 
his grief; sympathy from them would have added 
more weight to a burden that was already crush- 
ing him. 

For nearly an hour the party stood with un- 
covered heads, and hearts swelling with praise and 
gratitude for the martyred one, who was the first 
cause of every blessing they now enjoyed ; their pos- 
sessions were the price of blood. As they turned 
to go, Mr. Bartman spoke to his wife, but loud 
enough for all to hear : “ He’s goter have a turn’ 
stone that ’ll do ’im justice, ef it takes our eighty 
ter do it.” 

A letter from the Orphans’ Home president, at 
St. Louis, and the testimony of Rufus Bagley, that 
the little tin-type owned by Gertrude, was none 
other than Bill Moss, established the girl’s identity; 
giving her by authority of the court five thousand 
dollars left by her uncle, Jake Moss. With this 
unexpected stroke of good luck, we shall not worry 
our readers by informing them of the happy con- 
summation which followed a short time before 
Josh and Gertrude returned to the West. Business 
was a little dull in railroad construction, just then; 
hence, Josh was granted a vacation of a few weeks, 
with all the transportation he wanted for himself 
and Gertrude. 


35 ° 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


One night, a few days later, in a swinging ham- 
mock, while the harvest moon was shining brightly, 
and filtering itself through the great shade trees of 
Colonel Cluckston’s yard, other happy consummat- 
tions were planned. 

“Do you remember, Frank/’ said Dixie, “how 
we marveled at the strange providence that guided 
our destiny, as we sat on the brow of Lover’s Leap, 
the evening we parted? I was so happy then, but 
the clouds had not all cleared away from our skies. 
An angel could not then have anticipated all that 
has happened.” 

“I do remember it very well,” he replied; “also 
that I went away with a sad lonely heart. I will 
confess, it seemed that you were a little obstinate, 
and almost unreasonable.” 

“But could you blame me? How could I have 
been happy — even if I were in a good work — and 
my poor old father left alone among those hills and 
uncongenial neighbors. After Josh went away, he 
seemed to lean on me for comfort and encourage- 
ment.” 

“ I can see it all ; and every time I could hush 
my aching heart, I loved and honored you more 
than ever. Your fidelity to a sacred trust, lifted 
you above affection as dear as life. Where are the 
clouds, now, Dixie? ” 

“ Gone, I trust, forever,” her voice dropping to a 
whisper. 


After Long Waiting. 


351 


“ May I repeat my Lover’s Leap question now ? ” 
he said slowly, taking her soft hand in his. 

“ Frank, you are out of order.” 

“ Why?” 

“ Asking unnecessary questions.” 

“Do you think so, Dixie?” 

“ I would be the crudest girl on earth, if it were, 
otherwise. It has always been answered in my 
heart.” 

“ But would you rob me of delight — such as 
asking an old-fashioned question, and getting a real 
sweet old-fashioned answer?” 

“ No, Frank, you are entitled to all I can give ; the 
words of my mouth and the meditations of my 
heart — unite in one long Yes, from the happiest girl 
in Kentucky.” 

A mocking bird in an old locust near by, began 
one of her moonlight sonatas, which thrilled and 
rippled an imitation of song notes gathered from the 
orchard singers of the day. 

“ She is singing the robin’s love song,” said 
Dixie. 

“ I wonder where she got such an inspiration,” he 
replied. 

“ By having good eyes and ears.” 

“ Certainly.” 


CHAPTER XLIV. 


After three years. 

Josh “ Wiggins ” sat in his office, idly drumming 
on the desk ; he had scanned the morning papers and 
noted nothing of interest. He heard a loud rap at 
his door. 

“ Come in — Why bless my life; it's the preacher 
and little sis.” Whereupon, he gave Dixie a regular 
bear hug. 

“ We were just passing through, had a day on our 
hands and thought we’d drop in to see you and 
Gertrude,” said Frank, brushing the dust and cin- 
ders from his hat. 

“And Gertrude is out of the city; my, but she 
will be sorry she was not at home. Where are you 
bound for? Wish we had known that you were 
coming.” 

“ We are on our way to the Pacific coast.” 

“ Yes, Josh, I am going to take that trip you 
promised me a long time ago,” said Dixie. 

“ Well, you’ll like your present company better. 
It paid you to wait. Say, let me suggest some- 
thing: get a stop-off at Springfield, and take a run 
over the little * Dinky ’ Narrow Gauge, down to 
old Skaggs. It will do you both good all over. 

352 


After Three Years 


353 

There is a rusty little coop, called a hotel; you can 
stand it for one night.” 

“ That is just what we will do; won’t we, Frank. 
My, I want to see the old place once more.” 

So it was agreed. They spent the day with Josh ; 
then took the night train over the “ Frisco ” for 
Springfield. Early the next morning they were 
seated in the narrow coach hitched on behind a 
dozen coal cars, with a tiny little engine that puffed 
furiously, as a prospect for a seventy-five miles ride 
through valleys, over creeks and around hill-sides. 
A coal mine had been opened a few miles below 
Skaggs Valley, and the company had improvised an 
outlet for their product. 

Skaggs’ Station was beyond Thompson’s Bald, 
on Sames creek, not far from where Old Tom 
Diggs’s mill stood. There were several interrup- 
tions and breakdowns during the day ; but just as the 
sun was a half disk, hidden by the row of hills 
beyond the creek, the bantam engine screamed 
wildly for Skaggs. The usual crowd of loafers 
were there; every face was strange to our friends 
but one; he was an overgrown, awkward fellow, 
with beard somewhat fussy but of several weeks 
growth. 

“ Who is that chap, Dixie ; he looks like one of 
our neighbors ? ” 

“ I do believe it is Bud Simmons ; go and ask him 
some questions, and find out; we can get all the 
news if it is Bud.” 


354 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


“ Will you please show me where the hotel is,” 
said Frank, innocently, approaching the loafer. 

“ Mister, cain’t ye see — yander ’tis ; biggest 
house,” answered the man. 

“ Thank you, sir ; we are strangers here, but 
used to be acquainted in Skaggs Valley.” 

“ What mout yer name be, stranger?” 

“ Well my name is Frank Bartman; and this lady 
was once Dixie Wiggins ” 

“ Je-ru-sa-lam — ye don’t tell me. Whew! Well 
I’ll jist be blowed up. I’d a never a knowed ye. 
My, but I’m powerful glad to see both uv ye. Goin’ 
a settle ’bout here ? ” 

“ No, Bud; we are going away in the morning,” 
replied Frank; “just happened to pass through. 
How are all the folks in the Valley ? ” 

“ Lots uv ’em er gone, what wus here when you 
’uns wus here.” 

“ What has become of Lanky Joe ; is he still in the 
Valley? ” 

“ Not by a jug full; he’s lamin’ a trade fur the 
guvernmint.” 

“ What did he do, Bud?” 

“ Got in with a gang of them Ball Knobbers, 
acrost the ridge. They did some killin’, and Lanky 
got ketched; couldn’t prove out. No body ’round 
here cried over ’im, either. Some thought ’e ort 
a-hang.” 

When they told Bud good-bye, they both shook 


After Three Years. 


355 


hands with him warmly, which he appreciated very 
much. “ Ye all come and see us when ye kin,” was 
his last greeting. 

“ All right, Bud, we will.” 

As soon as Frank and Dixie had eaten a rough 
supper at the Skaggs House, they started for an 
evening stroll up the Old Goshen road; but turned 
in at the rickety bars leading through the grove to 
Dixie’s childhood home. The silence of the early 
night had settled down over the Valley; as they 
walked along the path so familiar to Dixie, not a 
word was spoken, everything seemed so lonely. 
The old double-log house was empty ; the yard fence 
almost ready to fall; it was a forlorn picture. 

“ What shall we talk about, this evening, my 
dear,” said Frank, as they seated themselves on the 
steps leading to the porch. 

“ Nothing at all ; I want to think. My old, old 
home; I could just cry, and yet there is nothing to 
cry about. Poor mammy; it seems as if she ought 
to be here.” 

Just then a screech-owl began a whining tirade 
in a tree near by. “ You impudent thing; still keep- 
ing up your old job, with no improvement in your 
voice,” said Dixie, with a soft laugh. 

“ Shall we go now,” Frank asked. 

“ No, don’t you see the moon is coming up. Let 
us wait.” 

For over an hour, the past, with all its strange. 


The Vulture’s Claw. 


3 5 6 

stirring events, was rehearsed. Then suddenly 
Dixie sprang from the porch, and clapped her hands 
like a child, “ Just look.” 

“ Now I know why you wanted to wait for the 
moon.” 

The great crouching shadow had appeared on the 
mountain side, threatening, as of old, to spring upon 
the sleeping Valley. 


In the Shadow of God 


By GUY ARTHUR JAMIESON 

Author of 


-AT THE EDGE OF THE YELLOW SKY" 
Etc., Etc. 


S HE story begins in the West, picturing the 
struggle of a youth between what he thinks 
his duty and a compelling instinct ; but as the 
story progresses the duty becomes a superstition, 
the instinct the call of God — he follows it and in 
doing so finds his soul— rejoices in it and wins from 
it at last great power and success. 


“In the Shadow of God ” is a novel that will 
appeal to the thoughtful and discerning — the reader 
that appreciates the different, the original, the dram- 
atic, the powerful. It is a novel that will provoke 
wide-spread criticism and is sure to become one of 
the most talked-about novels of the year, calling 
forth extravagant praise and denunciation, though 
the spirit of the book is one of the broadest charity, 
kindliest sympathy, and one closes it with a more 
generous fellow feeling for “all sorts and conditions 
of men.” It is a big book with a big surprise — a 
big book with a big motive, a big heart and a big soul. 

We do not wish to condemn the book *>ith extrava- 
gant praise , but if it did not have the peculiar surprising 
Aerit of which we speak we could not thus strongly 
commend it to the public. 


12mo., CLOTH :: $1.00 NET 


R. F. FENNO & COMPANY 
18 East Seventeenth Street, New York 



t Jlassmt^r 

(AN INTERPRETATION) 

BY CLIFFORD HOWARD 

Author of 

* ,{ Jjhe Story of a Young fKCan, jJ Life of Christ * 

** ‘Did Jesus Live in ZftCazareth ? ” 

&c., &c. 

|HE literary style is charming. The descriptions are 
beautiful without being extravagant, and put one in 
touch with the country, the homes of the people and 
the city in which the story is laid. The language is 
pure and elegant, and to the student should be a source of 
constant delight. 

The story discloses an intimate knowledge of the manners 
and customs of the Jews at the time of Christ, and in its telling 
brings to the reader a realization of the every day incidents that 
undoubtedly crowded about the Master after His fame began 
to spread throughout Palestine. It is a side of Christ and His 
work that should be more widely studied and exploited. The 
paintings of Tissot gave the world a different view of Christ and 
his surroundings than was ever before realized. Why should 
not literature enforce and emphasize these human heart-interest 
features, and through expositions of this nature put us in closer 
touch with the every-day life of this man God ? 

This is presuming of course that the work is performed by 
those who approach the subject with reverence and intelligence, 
as is the case with the author of “THE PASSOVER.** 

The hint that Judas was lead to betray Christ because of 
jealousy on discovering that Mary had loved the Master is in- 
genious, making a story of great power, rivalling “ Ben-Hur” — 
and this, too, without being “sensational’’ or irreverant. 


R. F. FENNO & COMPANY 

18 EAST SEVENTEENTH STREET, NEW YORK 













NOV V? 1910 


















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One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



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